


Advent of Doom

by sarkywoman



Category: Marvel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 34,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5328308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarkywoman/pseuds/sarkywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For my dear Nox_Wicked. An advent of fic. Not at all in chronological order, but snippets from the bizarre yet functional relationship between Loki and Doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nox_Wicked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nox_Wicked/gifts).



Something about the man appeals to Loki.

Eloquence discarded for forcefulness. Celebrity considered inferior to royalty.

The mortal who would be God. 

Loki toys with him, teases him, taunts him and torments him. 

Doom bristles but does not push him away. He snaps cold words but does not mean them. That is far preferable to Thor, who says warm words but cannot mean them.

Stability. That is what appeals. Surprisingly.

But of course Doom must not possibly learn that, so Loki simply starts calling him boring then leaps into his lap one evening during dinner.

It is the beginning of something wonderful.


	2. Chapter 2

"You should stay," Victor said, before fully thinking it through.

Even now, sated and relaxed, Loki managed to fit a glint of mischief into his eyes when he blinked up at him from the pillow. The God of Mischief stretched languorously like a cat, drawing Victor's gaze to muscles drawn taut in his pale belly. Green silk sheets bunched up below, teasing in their artful placement. "Oh should I now? Why?"

"Is my accommodation not to your tastes?" Victor asked, avoiding the question.

"It's adequate," Loki said, nonchalant.

"Then you may stay," Victor replied, wondering which of them was trying the hardest to seem as though they were not trying at all. 

"Oh may I?" Loki drawled, voice dripping with insincerity.

This went on for many evenings. Offers were made and cross-examined over candlelit dinners and over the research table. In sleep-addled voices and in the most intimate of moments.

One night Victor parted his lips to make the offer again when Loki sat up, looked down at him and said, “I've decided.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” The god flopped back down over him, sprawled across the bed. “I will let you stay in my castle.”

“It's my castle.”

“That's the spirit.”


	3. Chapter 3

The day, so full of promise, begins to fall apart around the time of the first argument. Victor does not want Latveria to be the stage for the latest act of Loki's grand show. Outrageous. Loki has planned and schemed and is Latveria not his home too? 

“I deign to walk this frozen cesspit with you and you deem it too good for my harmless shenanigans?”

“Your godly sacrifice means little when Asgard will not even have you.”

They are villains. Conversational barbs are not just sharp but poisoned and soon Loki is spiriting himself away to enact his evil elsewhere. Far away from fragile castles and more fragile men.

He takes his work to the city of tall, narrow, shining palaces and the most heroic of heroes. The Avengers are always good fun. All the more when his brother is not around to spoil Loki's games with sad eyes. The Avengers shoot to kill when Thor is not there to plead Loki's case.

Perhaps he is a little careless. He has anger to vent, after all. Victor's territorial tantrum has upset him just as Loki had begun to contemplate a more serious commitment to the man. 

His scheme collapses. Stark's new restraints prevent his escape.

For hours they debate what to do with him. Barton wants him dead. Romanoff thinks S.H.I.E.L.D could make use of him. The good Captain urges everyone to await Thor's return. Stark is trying disingenuous conversation to learn what he can. Loki plays the game back at him, attempting to learn something he can use for his escape. This scheme was a solo endeavour. No allies will help him here.

“Doom's been seen at the power plant.”

They leave him.

Victor arrives and without comment, whisks him back to the 'frozen cesspit' Loki has started to call home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blergh, I'm so sick I got up to post this at 4pm and I'm now going back to bed. Blergh I say.

Victor nods at the changes to the documents and lets the nervous little man close the folder.

“So it is decided. Glory to Doom.”

The man shakes his hand. “And the Goddess,” he nods, turning away.

Victor holds him fast by the wrist. “What did you say?”

His contracted serf glances to his worried companions who provide no help at all, then back at Doom. 

“And the Goddess, my liege. Surely you... you would not deny her?”

Deny her? Doom has never heard of her. Latveria recognises no deities or organised religion, the churches mostly ornamental. The benevolence of Doom is the only miracle his people need.

He asks more questions. He lets the men go. They seem surprised.

After some other business is taken care of, he finds Loki. The God of Mischief lounges around the library today. He has only recently recovered from an altercation with the Avengers and while he insists his injuries were nothing, he has been slow of movement and ill of temper.

“I need you to look into something for me.”

“Oh? Am I your employee now?”

“There is a goddess in Latveria. I fear she means to inspire my people.”

Loki looks amused. “And you do not want them inspired?”

“Doom should inspire them!”

Still he receives no assistance, only mockery. “You inspire me,” Loki murmurs with his liar's tongue. “Is that no use?”

It is not. Victor spends a week investigating this Goddess. His people are thanking her for the harvest and praying for her to protect them from superhuman battles. Faith spreads like a disease, as if his people had a space in their minds solely for nonsensical belief.

Victor intends to make their worship illegal, but he comes to a finer plan. He will command her to cease in front of her congregation. 

Surveillance soon pinpoints the location of her church. Victor waits until the doors are closed for the service then strides in.

“You will--”

The words die on his lips. Resplendent in a revealing green dress, eyes glowing from her ritual, the Goddess meets his gaze. 

Citizens watch them warily.

“Most gracious liege,” she purrs, lowering herself to her knees. “You honour us.”

The citizens follow her example without question. Faith coaxes them where royalty could only force.

“Such loyal worshippers,” Loki murmurs up to him in a feminine voice as Victor walks, stunned, to her side. “My gift to you. They love as well as they fear.”

So Latveria weds Church to State.


	5. Chapter 5

"I have removed that troublesome servant," Loki says imperiously, striding into Victor's laboratory to find his lover. The second lab, that is. The first lab has become almost entirely overwhelmed by Loki's personal projects and the third lab is still supposedly secret from him. The very notion that Loki would not know is amusing to him so he lets Victor keep his 'secret' for now. 

"Which one?" Victor asks, voice distracted as he fires a laser into a sheet of strange fabric. Loki does not know the purpose of this test and does not much care. Some concept to trouble the Fantastic Four, no doubt.

"The tall one with the greying hair around the temples."

"The head of my household staff?" Victor asks, still paying very little attention. "He has served noble families for generations."

"He asked me to avoid addling you with further distractions," Loki says, feeling his jaw tense just from repeating it. Presumptuous, stupid little mortals.

"I did not say he was irreplaceable," Victor murmurs, changing a setting on the laser equipment. The fabric under the beam begins to crackle and burn.

"Perhaps I should be allowed to interview for promising staff," Loki says, grinning at the thought. He possesses a variety of smart suits and can imagine staring someone down across a desk, grilling them on their suitability for employment in the House of Doom.

"Then all of my servants will be besotted, nubile worshippers of Chaos," Victor replies. He is not as firm with his dismissal as he would normally be. His work is taking more of his focus. That thought grates, but Loki is attempting not to be too clingy. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing. Perhaps devoted worshippers will provide the kind of commitment to the role that we require. Of course, we will have to ensure they don't steal the bed sheets to sell or sniff."

"Disgusting," Victor murmurs, scanning the fabric he is testing.

"We shall have to hire some more staff soon, at any rate. With that oaf gone and some others... no longer employed here," Loki says as tactfully as he can, "You run the risk of having no useful servants whatsoever."

"What happened to the others?"

Loki should have known Victor would still be partially listening at least. "Oh, you know... this and that."

Finally Victor glances his way. Is there amusement in the eyes behind that mask? "You're terrible."

Splaying a hand to his chest in mock shock, Loki gasps. "Me? No. I've simply been neglected and took entertainment where I could." He lets a smile slowly appear, only to twist it into a lascivious grin. "Some of them rather enjoyed it."

"I can only imagine." Victor turns away again, back to his work. "And when we have no staff left?"

With a huff Loki sprawls on the nearby workbench. "I suppose I will keep things in order. My religious services take up a mere fraction of my time and I don't even truly need to be present. I could project that version of myself astrally and potter about here in the meantime. Just think, I could be a literal domestic goddess for you. Magic makes quick work of stains and mess. Your servants take full minutes to prepare a room that would take a blink with a spell. Still," he examines his black nails idly, "I fear it may be beneath me. Surely the phenomenal cosmic power that you love is best unleashed in ways other than cleaning and diary management."

"I love you for more than your power," Victor says vaguely as he fiddles with the settings on his laser equipment.

A full minute goes by before he freezes and raises his head to meet Loki's stunned gaze.

It is the first he has ever said anything of the kind.

They say nothing more about it. 

Loki thinks of nothing else for days.


	6. Chapter 6

"What is this latest scheme of yours?"

Victor startles and presses a button on the workbench to throw his project into immediate lockdown. A metal shutter slams down around the bench as he jumps back and he can hear the comforting hum of the forcefield generator within, providing a second layer of security.

Lounging against a nearby machine, Loki arches an eyebrow at him. "Not for my eyes, then?"

There is danger in that calmness. Loki does not like to be denied and will only grow more suspicious. But he cannot be told about the project. Not this one. Let him discover details on all the others, but this is Victor's secret.

"It is not. Perhaps when it is complete."

"I do hope I am not going to find myself part of this project. I so hate waking to find myself restrained."

"Do you?" Victor challenges.

Loki laughs. "Well, it rather does depend on the context."

"I'm late for dinner," Victor realises, spotting the time on the nearby display. No wonder Loki has intruded.

"Indeed. Your project keeps you away increasingly of late. You must know I am dying of curiosity."

Victor links his arm with Loki's and they walk out together. "I promise to show you when it is done."

"A promise. Well, that just makes it all okay," Loki drawls sarcastically. Between them promises hold little weight. 

"You will see. I want you to see."

That clearly sends Loki into a spiral of suspicion, but Victor means it in the most innocent way. The project will mean nothing without Loki's input.

Unfortunately, as days go by it becomes clear that Loki is not the only curious party. His systems are hacked no less than four times, though he manages to prevent the assailant from gathering any valuable information on the project. Of course it would have been too much to hope that his work would go unnoticed. He has struck devilish bargains and negotiated with beings from beyond space and time. He has fought heroes in pursuit of the items he required. It is only natural they would suspect he is up to something.

Still, he does not have to hold out long. Loki is the most dangerous threat to the integrity of the project - he slinks around the castle with suspicion, sulking when Victor continues to work without telling him details. Even when Victor complains about the meddling of third parties Loki only shrugs and says haughtily, "I would assist you if I were invited to participate."

"I will require your assistance. Soon." Victor already has the best location in mind for the final step. He has a date marked on his calendar in accordance with the planet alignments. It is ideal for what he intends.

"But of course," Loki says sarcastically, not in the least pacified. "I live to serve."

At least he intervenes when the Avengers and Fantastic Four attempt to bring the castle down around their ears. Between them they are a match for the members that are attacking, but Victor is distracted by the knowledge that they are after his project. Stark and Richards make short work of the lockdown protocols and the forcefield and Victor leaves a cursing Loki to face the other heroes as he races to stop them.

"Stop right there, Doom!" Stark shouts, aiming his repulsor blasts. "We're stopping whatever weapon you're building in here!"

"It's no weapon," Victor snarls, half-lying. "It's--"

"A ring?" Richards says, confused as they catch sight of the project. "Are you... I don't... What?"

Stark looks at the sparkling, mystical jewellery. "Why a ring?"

"It's for Doom's proposal for Loki's hand. A God ought not be offered items of Earth-standard."

"Oh, Victor..."

He turns to see Loki on the stairs. The project is ruined.

"Of course I will marry you. You romantic!"

The heroes are all so confused and surprised that they leave with apologies. 

Victor wonders if they wake that night with the startled realisation that they left an infinity stone in Loki's possession.


	7. Chapter 7

Loki settles into Castle Doom in the same manner as he does anything - deceptively calm and intelligent with sudden bursts of irrational energy and chaos. He thinks he is being subtle, Victor suspects. It is no ordinary man Loki seeks to cohabit with, however. It is Victor von Doom, who notices every instance of a new belonging arriving on his territory. It starts with the obvious things like spellbooks and artifacts of power, little trinkets that Loki gives in generous shows of good faith. A store of some valuables with the assertion that he had nowhere safe to keep them, said so nonchalantly that Victor had to smile behind his mask.

There is a guest room adjacent to Victor's own that Loki has free reign over. As time passes, he uses it less and less. It soon comes to be that Loki's use of the spare room indicates disharmony between them. All usual nights are spent together, tangled intimately or peacefully dozing. Victor tries to keep his guard up for a long time, but eventually he resigns himself to letting Loki close. It is not a failure if it is a choice.

Then there is the interior design. The discussions over breakfast of shades of green. Debating the merits of different household staff members. Organising schemes so that one will always be at liberty to assist the other in emergency.

It comes to that numerous times. They try to avoid joining forces too often, lest they lose the element of surprise. Depending on which Avengers are at the scene, sometimes surprise is Victor's strongest advantage when Loki gets in over his head. He will never admit aloud how infuriating it is that Loki needs no additional advantage against the Fantastic Four, striding into Victor's battles as though they are beneath him. 

He does that now, a flash of green signalling his arrival scant moments after Victor's last doombot is destroyed.

"Oh not again!" Johnny Storm cries out, veering off-course at the last minute when he had intended to drive Victor down into the ground. "Don't you have anything better to do, Loki?"

No comment, only a smile as Loki holds his hands up in the direction of the Human Torch and unleashes a torrent of what looks like extinguisher foam.

"A party trick," Victor mutters as he finds his feet.

"Would you rather I turn them inside out?" Loki asks, still smiling. "I was under the impression you wanted that honour yourself."

"I do. Neutralise them only."

Loki arches an eyebrow at the command, but does as requested. His magic makes short work of the Fantastic family and forces them to flee. Despite Reed's renewed studies he cannot fathom sorcery. Another area where Victor claims superiority to him.

When the Fantastic Four are gone, taking the blueprints Victor had stolen, Loki wanders idly around the battlefield. If it can be called such. It is a furniture superstore, not as ravaged by battle as it could have been.

"This is nice," Loki calls, eyeing a mahogany dresser. 

Weary from the fight, Victor sees little choice but to humour him. He walks over to Loki's side. "We already have a similar piece of furniture."

"We'll need another."

"We will?"

"Mm. For the nursery."

"Nursery," Victor repeats. He puzzles over the word for a moment before looking to Loki for clues. His lover continues to stare at the dresser with a focus it does not deserve. 

"Yes."

"You're pregnant." He has heard stories and had one or two confirmed by Loki himself.

"About a month or so, yes."

Victor looks at Loki's middle, but there is no visible sign. He thinks on the past 'month or so'. Loki has not been entirely monogamous. It has never been something they care about. "Is it mine?"

Loki finally meets his eyes. "It could be. If you wanted."

So not biologically, then.

They stand for a while in the store as hapless bystanders crawl around overturned furniture and cast frightened glances their way. Police sirens grow louder outside.

"If we convert the guest room into the nursery this dresser could fit quite snugly under the window."

"Then where will I sleep?" Loki asks with a knowing grin.

He places a possessive hand on the trickster's hip. "Where you belong."

With a soft sound of pleasure, Loki teleports them home.


	8. Chapter 8

When Odin's guards arrive in Castle Doom, pikes held at their shoulders and armour reflecting the lights of Victor's machines, Loki is so startled he has a knife ready before he even realises that the nearest guard is holding out a piece of parchment to him.

"Oh." The guard's eyes are fearful, the parchment trembling in his fingers. Loki slowly draws the blade back from the man's throat. The other guards have made no move to stop him. He takes the missive.

"Are you being summoned to trial?" Victor asks, his gaze running over the guards who have infiltrated his home. Loki knows that should he ask, Victor will happily have them ejected from his land. 

"It does not seem so." He has to re-read the letter to ensure he has not misunderstood.

_'Loki,_

_Your brother has informed us that you have chosen to wed a mortal man. Although our relationship has become strained in recent times, you are still our son. You are still a Prince, disgrace and all. It is the wish of myself and your mother that we assess this mortal and his suitability to wed into the Royal Family of Asgard. We hereby invite you both to dinner. Immediately.'_

Bemused, Loki hands the note to Victor. "Thor has been gossiping. Do you fancy meeting my parents?"

It is impossible to see the man's reaction under the mask, but after a few moments Victor nods. "If I must."

He sets some programs to run in their absence and checks all appropriate security measures are in place. Loki cannot help but smile. Victor will never admit how curious he is about the realm of the gods. "Perhaps I can thieve you a golden apple while we're there."

"I need nothing from you to achieve my goals."

"If you say so," Loki says cheerfully. He has some fruit stockpiled away anyway, just in case.

Victor manages the trip with a grace that makes Loki proud to bring him to Asgard. Most mortals stumble, fall or retch. Victor's only reaction to the suddenness of bifrost travel is to tighten his grip on Loki's arm briefly before releasing him.

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif are their escorts, arriving on horseback. Fandral eyes Doom with confusion. "Is there actually a man under there or is this another trick, Loki?"

Loki scowls. "This is no mere man. This is Victor Von Doom, King of Latveria and scourge of mortal men. And he is my fiance."

"Certainly he must be courageous, your 'fiance' is a more frightening title than any," Volstagg says. They all laugh. 

At least they do until Victor tugs Volstagg from his steed and helps Loki onto the horse. Loki needs no such assistance, but enjoys the horror on the faces of Thor's friends as he is treated to such gallantry. Victor climbs on behind him, as easy as though he has ridden his whole life. "I assume you know the way."

They leave their escort in the dust. Everything seems much the same as Loki remembers it, though a few buildings have been altered in the rebuild since his last bout of property destruction. The palace stands as it always has and he feels the same feelings of home and hate warring in his gut as he always does. "We do not have to stay long," he reassures Victor. Well. Perhaps he is reassuring himself.

"We will leave whenever you wish," Victor replies, and that is far more reassuring. They leave their horse at the stable and venture inside. Loki feels... anxious. How ridiculous.

"Loki!" His mother cries out his name and before he can turn she is embracing him. After a squeeze she steps back and looks him up and down with a smile. "Oh, I'm so relieved to see you look so well." Then she turns to Victor, hesitating only briefly at the sight of the metal mask and armour. "Are you my Loki's betrothed?"

Victor inclines his head slightly. "I am." No false deference here.

She steps forward and takes his hand. "Then I thank you. I had begun to fear Loki would never give his heart to anyone."

"Mother," Loki groans. "This is no rose-petal romance, you know. Me and Victor plan to rule the worlds and crush all opposition."

But she bites her lip as if trying not to laugh and nods. After a few moments, she says, "Of course, darling. Your brother has told us much the same. He's rather fearful of the match."

That is troubling. "And has he poisoned father's ear with the same talk?"

As if summoned, Odin's heavy footsteps fall in the room. The man strides towards them and stops a mere metre away, exuding power. Victor watches, warily. "He has," the Allfather booms. "Tell me, King Doom... Is it true that you have subjugated your people, taken bloody vengeance for mere slights, warred with beings from beyond your realm and that you humour my son in his dangerous mischief?"

Victor stands tall as ever and after a moment's pause says, "It is."

Odin glares with his one eye.

Then he laughs and slaps a heavy hand on Victor's shoulder. "Finally, a fitting match for my son! Let Asgard rejoice at a celebratory feast!"


	9. Chapter 9

Two-thousand white roses. 

One hundred invitations precisely. 

A banquet of the finest foods arranged through the usual methods, with Loki arranging a feast for the Latverian commonfolk with magic thereafter.

The church where Loki reinvented Latverian religion, decorated like something from a fairy tale. Snow falling at Loki's whim. 

An argument about guests. Loki does not want Susan Storm there. Victor does not want Tony Stark there. They compromise, if only because they are both amused by the thought of their guests' discomfort.

Victor formally requests Loki's hand from Odin and the All-Father acquiesces with a request that they do not honeymoon in the blood of innocents.

A Doombot will be best man, for Doom is the best of all men. 

They prepare a forcefield to exclude the uninvited. Loki carefully selects the media presence and schedules their post-wedding interviews.

For three days Loki frets about the form he - or she - should wear. Their kingdom know a Goddess, so it is the female form that is ultimately selected. That spurs three weeks of excitement about the dress, interspersed with exclamations of, "Oh Victor, I shall be your Queen! How fun!"

Ten days prior to the ceremony Thor arrives to dissuade them. He accuses Victor of manipulating his brother, then accuses Loki of manipulating Victor.

When Loki requests a moment alone with his brother, Victor allows it with a little hesitation. He sets his magical sensors to alert him to any heightened tensions within the room and leaves for a while.

He returns only when he is aware that Thor has left the castle. Loki sits pensive but curls into him when Victor takes a seat beside him on the couch. 

"It amazes me," the trickster murmurs, "how bonding ceremonies cause such heightened tensions on Midgard and Asgard alike."

"Will he be attending?" Victor asks, conflicted as to whether Thor's attendance would be a good thing or not.

"But of course. His little brother's wedding. He could not possibly abstain. He will, naturally, glare at us both throughout. I am certain it will not impact my enjoyment of the day."

Victor works tirelessly on accommodating Loki's desires for their special day. After all, this commitment was his idea. He, Victor Von Doom, is the one responsible for instigating this ritualised connection between himself and a God. He intends to demonstrate how suited he is for the role of a God's husband, just as Loki has demonstrated behaviours suited to the role of Latverian Queen.

The people are rejoicing. It is quaint and unusual. Victor finds he likes it. Their merriment is not compromising their obedience or their efficiency so it is welcome. Loki seems to enjoy it too, smiling out of the carriage window as people cheer at their passing.

"Your kingdom loves me more than mine ever did," he says warmly.

In reply, Victor takes his hand and says words he had never imagined leaving his lips. "Our kingdom."

Loki's hand tightens around his.

Nobody declines their invitation, which is unexpected. The heroes clearly anticipate something dastardly requiring their intervention while the villains are eager to attend the wedding of the century. Perhaps the wedding of the millennium. Victor hopes to have many, many anniversaries.

Their cake is twelve feet tall with enough room in the middle to walk through. It is more a wedding arch made of cake.

Loki cackles his way through their gift list, requesting items of terrifying potential power and wondering which villains will be generous enough - or which heroes will be foolish enough - to hand them over.

The night prior to the wedding Loki works a particularly powerful spell over the country. It exhausts him to the point that Victor worries for his health, but he insists he will recover in time for their marriage. The spell ensures malicious thoughts will make themselves heard to Loki's ear. That, combined with Victor's various security measures, will ensure that their day will not be ruined by any assassination attempts.

They eat breakfast together then part. Victor dons his finest armour and cloak. He has had a mask made especially for this occasion. It is only when he looks over his appearance in the mirror that he realises.

He is getting married to Loki.

For a moment he has to sit down. Only a moment. Then he steels himself and makes his way to the venue.

Their guests sit in quiet conversation and Victor does not engage with any of them. His focus is elsewhere today and will be squandered on no one but Loki. He stands waiting patiently. Doctor Strange is to conduct the ceremony and knows better than to attempt idle gossip. Loki's family sit in the front row and Victor nods respectfully to Loki's mother, who returns the nod. Thor glares.

Victor looks around the decorated room and the mass of guests. Such a monumental fuss over something so petty.

Music begins, played by a small Latverian orchestra and accompanied by otherworldly Asgardian musicians. The crowd quietens. The doors open.

The fuss has not been monumental enough, Victor thinks. All the preparations in the world would not have been sufficient to adequately commemorate this. This beauty. This Goddess.

Loki walks slowly down the aisle with Odin All-Father at her side. The dress shimmers and sparkles as if made from stardust and snowflakes. Her eyes are fixed on Victor's face. He knows she sees it through the mask. She smiles as she reaches him and her father takes his seat. The smile is unusually timid, her green eyes unusually bright.

They are both nervous, Victor realises.

Any doubts he might have had are entirely conquered.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't been responding to comments, I love them all so much! It's been tricky finding the time to write and post but thank you for enjoying it so far.

Victor can go weeks without even thinking of sex. Generally speaking, it is not high on his list of priorities. He does not reject it or actively avoid it, but he has better things to be doing with the majority of his time. 

When Loki first comes to live with him they have a honeymoon period of sorts. Entirely Loki's fault, as these things often are. As much as Victor does not think on sex often, he cannot ignore the lust that Loki inspires in him. He can resist it, when he has cause to think he is being manipulated, but Victor Von Doom is not one to deny his own urges without reason. Loki drapes himself around castle furnishings like a supermodel and it isn't entirely for his own comfort. For a week or so Victor's projects remained untouched as he acclimatised himself to living with constant temptation.

Which is to say, he gave in as often as temptation offered itself. They barely got through a dinner without Loki making some comment or gesture of flirtation. The God constantly invited Victor to have him and at first Victor had assumed Loki was excited by their new proximity to one another as well. 

He knows better now. Half a year has passed and Loki still acts with the same wild abandon as he had during their first trysts. Victor wonders if the novelty simply takes longer to wear off for an immortal, but soon dismisses that theory. The truth is fairly obvious once he looks at the available data - his lover is a borderline nymphomaniac. 

When Victor is unavailable Loki makes do with others, though there is no emotional intimacy to those encounters. Sexual jealousy is not in Victor's nature, as much as Loki would like it to be. As long as Loki is treated with the respect he is due from commoners he may have a queue outside, for all Victor minds.

Loki laughs when he is told that. He also laughs when Victor tells him of his diagnosis.

"Nymphomaniac. What a delightful word. Like a manic nymph. I like it." He twists and uses his phenomenal strength to topple them over, rolling on the bed so that Victor is now on his back. "Do you think me an addict then?"

Victor's next words stick in his throat as Loki slides himself down, embraces Victor's hardness with his body, slicked up, warm and welcoming. He thrusts his hips upward, this position not favouring his mobility. He rarely has to do much in the early stages of their fornication. Loki moves well and eagerly, his soft inner walls caressing Victor's cock teasingly then tightly. There is much to be said for a godly lover with such control over every muscle and limb.

It makes him want to break that control. He often does, though it requires hours of intense and thorough love-making with little thought to his own satiation.

"I think you glory in it," Victor says once his voice has returned. He watches their hips move together, his own erection plunging into Loki's body greedily. Loki's sensual writhing against him. "You are enjoying playing the lusty, sensual, fertility god or goddess. I don't worry for you." He tightens his hand around Loki's hip, hoping to bruise. "You will stop when you grow bored. Gods are fickle."

Loki smiles. "I will not get bored of you, Victor." He leans down, flexible enough that it seems no stretch for him at all to bestow a kiss even as he rides. There is such sweet intimacy in the play of their tongues that Victor always wonders what he is doing in these moments, why he is allowing this connection that will surely break him. Then Loki kisses down his jaw, not bothered by the red skin that pulls taut when it should be softer in shade and feel. He kisses along Victor's throat and back along his chest until he sits upright and rides again with a fevered single-mindedness. "I love you too dearly." It does not sound romantic, it sounds almost pained. Moreso when Loki repeats it. "Far too dearly."

Victor enjoys the sight of his god writhing atop him, but enjoys holding him down all the more (for all that Loki can probably stop it). He twists them around roughly, half-throwing Loki down onto the bed but managing to stay within him. 

It is better to bring Loki to a climax first. With a god's stamina he often orgasms multiple times during their ruts. There have been occasions using toys and patience that Victor has worn him out, left him gasping and whimpering and sobbing on their bed. An impractical investment of time, but so satisfying. Loki seems to think so too, always simpering and over-affectionate for a time afterwards.

"You are the only man who makes love to me," Loki murmurs, the last word warped by a groan of pleasure. He strokes Victor's face as he gazes up at him lovingly. "The only man who has ever made love to me."

"Liar," Victor grunts as he shunts his hips forward harder.

"Yes, but not in this. I have been fucked and I am regularly fucked, but never like this. Never with someone looking at me as you do."

Victor wants to ask what sort of look Loki means, cautious of what he might be showing the trickster. But Loki kisses him again and steals the question away. 

A few more months pass and Victor no longer cares to ask. He knows how he looks at Loki. His Loki. Beloved. He no longer sees their connection as a gap in his armour. It is another source of strength and a weapon in his war against the world for the world's own sake.

And when Loki finds him working, coaxes him in between pale thighs with filthy words and dark promises, it is an escape from that war. A time to be a thing of pleasure, just for a while. 

He comes to understand why Loki loves it so.


	11. Chapter 11

His headache is born of frustration, Victor knows. He puzzles over his equations again, grasping for different sheets of paper strewn over his desk. He will not let Richards beat him in this. It would not be right. 

"Darling?"

He barely grunts in response to Loki's playful call. The trickster has a habit of 'playing domestic' as he phrases it, adopting mannerisms and behaviour more suited to a dated sitcom. Luckily he only does it in passing, to amuse himself. He does not waste much effort on it, preferring to turn his productivity towards his unholy Church and schemes to thwart the Avengers. Or toy with the Avengers. Victor despairs of ever understanding his endgame.

"Victor." The voice is closer now. Loki's hand strokes over his shoulder, plays at the gap between armour and mask where Victor's flesh shows through. It is a day of casual garments, the lighter armour more comfortable to work in long-term. Loki's fingers are cold and Victor cringes away from his touch slightly. "You have been down here all night again."

"You know my work is important," Victor grumbles. His throat is sore. Dehydration, no doubt. "I do not always have time to pander to your whims."

"The third night in a row, darling." Loki's fingers are still cold as they dance along his neck and Victor draws away again. The trickster frowns. "Look at me."

Despite his adamant refusal to pander, Victor does so. He looks at Loki's face and raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"May I?" Loki pulls away the mask.

"Impudence!" Victor shouts, covering his face automatically with his hands. Immediately embarrassed because Loki has seen his scars before. But on Victor's terms. Not his own.

"Don't be silly." Loki pries one hand away from where it shields Victor's visage and presses the back of his own hand to the man's scarred forehead. "Hmm."

"What are you doing?"

"You have a high temperature. Did you realise?"

"Of course I realised. Doom is acutely aware of all physiological changes and deemed it of no consequence." He had not realised.

Loki's eyebrows lift. "Third-person again, love? I thought we were beyond that, you and I."

"Leave me to my work," Victor demands archly. He is too tired to manage Loki as well as his project. 

"I will." Loki kisses his forehead with exasperating and ill-fitting sweetness before putting the mask back into place. "Can I see you at dinner, though? It's six hours away. You will have this conundrum solved within three, I'm sure."

"Indeed. I will set an alarm."

That seems to suffice and Loki leaves him in peace. Victor breathes a sigh of relief and after turning up the ventilation in the stifling room, gets on with his work.

Seven hours later a plate of steak is thrown down on the workbench beside him with enough force to shatter the china. Potatoes roll onto the floor and Victor turns just as Loki storms out of the lab.

He does not have the energy to deal with his diva today and he sweeps the china shards and food off of his workbench with trembling hands. The continued effort on his project is leaving him weary, but he persists. Tomorrow is the day he will see results, the day he will finally humiliate Reed Richards. He cannot stop now.

The final amendment to his workings seems to have accomplished his goals and Victor sags in relief. He runs a few final tests on the device, unwilling to overlook any possible problems. A malfunction could be disastrous.

The sound of his armoured glove against the table distracts him. He is leaning, he realises, supporting himself against the table as if faint. 

Things in his vision become blurry.

“Victor.”

Loki calls him. He is laying down and all is dark.

“Wake _up_ Victor!”

Staring down at him, Loki looks more concerned than Victor has ever seen. Naturally the expression is mixed with annoyance.

“I must have fallen asleep,” Victor mumbles, pushing himself upright.

“Asleep. On the floor. In the lab.” Loki sounds singularly unamused when he repeats the ludicrous lie.

“Do not question me, I have work to complete.” He forces himself to his feet. His armour weighs heavily upon him. 

“I'll question you whenever I bloody well please,” Loki growls. “You are not well. You need to rest.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

It seems that all is in place for his plan. The diagnostic report finished at some point during his unconsciousness and confirms the weapon is fit for purpose.

“You sound like a child throwing a tantrum!” He throws a hand out to shove at his lover but it does not meet its mark. Loki holds his wrist firmly. “I will ignore this,” the deity says, voice low, “Because you are unwell. But you should rest. Leave this scheme for another day.”

“Let go of me.” Victor snatches his hand back and continues his preparations, ignoring Loki's sigh and subsequent departure. If he is going to be so unhelpful Victor would rather not have him near.

Things go mostly without a hitch from that point. He naps on the journey to Richards' international conference and the Doombots manoeuvre everything into position. 

The power goes out and Doom takes the stage, amused behind the mask at the assembly in a panic. He stands ready for the dramatic lighting to illuminate him and provide the proper setting for his genius speech.

He cannot remember it.

Any moment the light will come on and he cannot remember it.

Victor swallows, throat swollen and dry and sore. He is sweating behind the mask and under the armour, but he feels cold. He feels... Why is he falling?

When he opens his eyes Loki is sat at the bedside reading. They are home. The God of Mischief raises an eyebrow at him. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened?”

With a wave of his hand, Loki whips up a magical scrying screen and displays the conference. As the lights come on Doom sees himself fall. Then a Doombot – indistinguishable from himself to the untrained eye – steps in and speaks, kicking him aside as one would a malfunctioning tool. Victor presses a hand to his ribs and feels bruising.

Loki smirks. “You deserved that. The speech I mostly improvised, though I recalled a little of what you had practised. The bot was not programmed, I did not have the time, so I moved it and spoke through it with magic. The Fantastic Four and Stark and a few mutants made quick work of the weapon and the bots while I brought you home.”

What a waste of planning. Victor sighs. “Thank you.”

“Ha, now I know for sure you are unwell.” Loki plants a kiss on his forehead and stands to leave. “I shall ask after some nourishment for you. And think nothing of my hospitality, darling. You can repay me in kind when Asgardian Flu season rolls around.”


	12. Chapter 12

Their child is born while the planets are aligned, to the cacophony of a storm. It is more than Loki could have hoped for. For the first time in memory a hand holds his while the pain of birth wracks his body. He does not realise at the time, but later finds that he broke three of Victor's fingers with his grip. His lover did not even flinch.

"Your pain seemed of more import," he says when Loki chides him.

Loki insists upon naming the child Victor, though it is not as though his love puts up any argument. The babe has a shock of dark hair which is pleasing to the eye. His eyes are a vivid green. He wails more than any child Loki has birthed before. 

No one doubts that the baby is Victor's. The people of Latveria rejoice at news of their demigod prince. Commonfolk send handmade blankets and cards to the castle. Victor records a scene of Loki and the baby surrounded by these gifts in their bed, thanking their people for their kindness and loyalty. It is broadcast in a projection from the castle balcony to a roar of cheers and applause.

There is talk online and in the media beyond their kingdom about the possibility that the child is the antichrist, but Loki refuses to comment. "What monsters would label a baby as such?" Victor asks any fool who broaches the question with him. He also increases security around the castle to ensure the protection of their progeny.

His parents visit unexpectedly with gifts from Asgard. Clothes for the baby that are softer than any material Midgard can currently create. His father proudly presents a shortsword for the child, claiming it is charmed for his protection. Loki makes a mental note to investigate that later.

It does not take long before Loki starts differentiating between Victors by shortening their baby's name to Vic. Victor dislikes it and pulls a face behind his mask the first few times he hears it. Loki continues nonetheless. After all, Victor has irritating paternal habits of his own. He has charted the developmental stages of the Richards' children and keeps updates of Vic's progress in comparison to them. Their child excels, naturally. 

"Whatever genetic gifts have been given to the Richards spawn, they require nurture," Loki explains as he rocks their baby in his arms. "That is not something Reed and Susan seem capable of providing. Not reliably or consistently, at any rate." 

"Our son is not... without genetic advantages," Victor says carefully. "From his mother and father both."

"Did you run tests?" Loki asks. He had known from the start of course, the identity of the father. There had been a few candidates however and Victor would have had no way of knowing for sure. It had not seemed to matter to him, so Loki had not broached the difficult subject. He had not wanted it to matter.

"Some," Victor confesses. "I assume you know the father."

"I do."

"Then you know what I mean. He will be brilliant. Could be more brilliant than..." Victor cannot quite bring himself to admit potential second place, so he trails off then skips to saying, "With our diligent parenting, of course."

"Of course." Loki smiles. With Vic nestled carefully in his left arm, he reaches out with his right hand to hold Victor's. "I have never been so well-situated to raise a child. All the good intentions in the world cannot substitute for the security, wealth and love in my current circumstances. Our child will be the future of this world."

With these lofty expectations they watch him grow up. They are careful when they tell Vic what he must learn, who he must be. Pressure can create diamonds or crush spirits. A balance must be maintained. He loves them dearly and aims to please, though he starts to exhibit a stubborn individuality as soon as he can talk and walk. He quickly becomes the sort of child who is too 'busy' to come to dinner. They have to set aside one of the labs for him to create his own toys and projects. 

Loki forgets from time to time that Victor was not the man who contributed genetically to the birth. It is of such little importance to him that he is startled to realise the idea might weigh on his husband's mind. It only occurs to him when Vic proudly presents his newest invention and Victor excuses himself from the room in a sudden mood.

Vic looks dejected when he asks, "Why didn't he like my armour suit, mother?"

Worrying at his lip, Loki asks, "Why did you make it red, darling?"

"I thought it might stand out more," Vic says, frowning at the shining robo-armour. "Plus it's just a copy of father's if it's green." He scuffs his socks against the floor as he admits, "I made a cape for it just like his."

Oh, how Loki's heart quivers in his chest at that. He only notices then the clasps at the shoulders, the shape of the middle and the crest of Doom. It is Victor's armour to a tee, not an imitation of anyone else. "Perhaps your father simply remembered something vital he had to do. I think your armour is very well made. Well done." He kisses their son on the forehead and goes to find his husband.

The father's day mug from the desk is missing its handle now. Loki sighs and uses magic to reaffix it. "It isn't like you to be so mercurial, love."

"Did you see it? Nature will have its way regardless of nurture, it seems."

Loki goes to where Victor stands scowling at an experiment and embraces him from behind. "He likes red like all of his classmates. It is a bright colour, it catches attention. Some never grow out of that." He thinks of his brother. "But the armour was made to emulate yours. It even has these." He fingers the cape clasps at the shoulder. "He thought you would like it."

For a moment Victor is silence. Then, voice thick, he says, "I thought..."

"So did I. How silly of us."

They stand embracing a minute more, then Victor turns in Loki's arms and says, "Do you think he would like a mask?"

"Oh but of course. He must have a mask to protect that baby-face."

When Victor comes to dinner that evening he lays the mask he has made on the table. Silver and red. Vic lights up. "Oh wow, father! That's amazing!" He tries it on and Loki can tell he is beaming underneath. "I'll look just like you! Isn't that fantastic? Mother, mother, look!"

"My handsome chaps," Loki exclaims dramatically, putting a hand to his chest.

"What made you choose to create a suit of armour?" Victor asks as he cuts into his meal.

"Rose in my class was being dumb. She likes Iron Man, can you believe that? I thought if I made armour like yours she would learn better. Still red like Iron Man's, but you know, red is cool."

"Red is cool," Loki agrees, with a slight smile at Victor. "Green is better."

Vic rolls his eyes. "Sure, mother. Maybe I'll paint it green."

"Do not speak with your mouth full."

"Yes, father."

They will have to explain it to him one day, of course. 

But Loki is confident it will not matter to Vic anymore than it matters to him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that these snippets are random ideas as they occur to me, not a series in chronological order. (I'm flying by the seat of my pants at this point. Wait, is that the saying? I suddenly feel like it's not. At any rate, only a few of the upcoming fics have been pre-written at this point so... eep.)
> 
> Also sorry, this one's sad.

The service is as sombre as anyone would expect. Victor sits solemn and serious, feeling as though he is made of stone. A hand on his gauntlet might have softened him, but no such thing will be felt ever again.

Around him are sniffles and the occasional wail of grief, quickly silenced by other mourners who know better than to interrupt the quiet of this tragic ceremony. 

His cape is black today, bunched up beneath his legs. He had not sat with his usual care and poise. Such things are important he knows. A reputation is made of every little detail, but how can he care for his reputation now?

What is a King without a Queen? Without an heir?

Two coffins retreat slowly into the back of the church, to the incinerator where his most beloved two people in the entire Universe will be reduced to ash. He had entertained thoughts of having them buried, but fears grave-robbers and curses and the trauma should they somehow rise again. This world is so uncertain in what should be the most certain of events.

He had kept Loki's body for days. Suspended in time, it had been tempting to keep him that way forever. Sleeping, like a fairytale. But realisation crept upon him that a corpse held in time was still a corpse, so he lay his beautiful god to rest with their son.

Victor stands and goes through the private door of the church to witness the cremation. If he does not witness every moment of this with his own eyes he will not believe it done. His heart screams at the sight, but no sound escapes his lips. He has not spoken for over a day. He fears that if he parts his lips nothing but pained groans will escape him. He has known Hell itself and it had hurt him less than this. The greatest devils of all the realms could not have created such a torment.

When he closes his eyes he can still hear Loki whisper to him.

The ashes are sealed in two vases of adamantium decorated with emeralds and diamonds. Despite his own distaste for such pointless ornamentation Victor knows it is what Loki would have wished for. Extravagance for its own sake. He might even have wished for Victor's annoyance at such extravagance, mischief-maker that he was.

He allows himself a night of grief. There will be no time once his vengeance is at hand. The planning will need to be intensive and when his deed is done...

What will he do?

Their son's favourite book in his hand, Victor kneels in the boy's bedroom and allows emotion to destroy him. What will he do? He had forgotten the sound of his own sobs and they startle him now, wrenched from his chest as if through an agonising wound. He stares through blurred vision at the bed where his lover would sit, this same book in his hands as he conjured illusions to entertain their growing prodigy.

Victor had so often been in his lab and not once had he thought he was missing anything. Foolish! His metal gauntlet leaves a dent in the floor when he punches it in his rage.

His son's screams echo in his ears, the fear of lost youth as he cried out that he couldn't wake his mother. 

The sight of Loki's blood whenever he closes his eyes, pooling out under his head across the stone floor of their throne room. Struck hard enough that even a God would perish.

He recalls his voice sticking in his throat as he ran, knowing that anyone willing to take Loki from him would not stop at one murder. The explosion threw him back but he was on his feet in an instant, running through flames to reach his son.

Dragged back by their attackers who would not even let him die in the attempt to save his family. He had never imagined they could be so merciless. They had even laughed when he struggled against that infernal elastic grip. Laughed as his child burned.

Even now he cannot understand why, A curse, perhaps? Mind control? Were they waking in the Baxter Building at this very moment, shocked to find blood on their hands?

Motive does not matter. There is nothing in this world that will deter him from destroying them. They will be held responsible regardless. Clearly their own hatred had spurred them on, even if something else had lowered their morality theshold or heightened their aggression. Richards had long been jealous of him, the tables turning delightfully once Victor had settled with Loki and raised their son. Every time Reed and Susan were permitted by social services to take their daughter Valeria back home Victor could see the envy in Reed's eyes. All the scientific credibility in the world and the man could not hold his family together.

And now he has destroyed Victor's. 

Victor works three nights without pause. He pulls out old plans that he had once dismissed as too unstable, too dangerous, not worth the risk. There is now no such concept for him as risk. All things that once seemed to be his priority are now empty and useless to him. He finds no satisfaction when he gazes upon his kingdom. No peace when he thinks upon his successes. Love has hollowed him out like a parasite and he had not seen it until now. The sweetness of victory had once been the victory itself, but now it is the wicked smile on Loki's lips and the awe of his son. Things he will never know again.

No one comes to the laboratory to tell him he is working too hard. No one notices his absence from dinner or bed. How had he lived this way before? What pleasure had he found in it? None, he knows. It had been a means to an end. A dream of surpassing Richards in his field and a dream of immortality.

The concept of an eternal life makes his stomach churn. He cannot feel like this forever. It would be too much to bear. What is the use of an eternity that is not spent at Loki's side conquering the Nine Realms? What is the use of any of this?

Vengeance. His vengeance is the only use for him now. Loki was a God and he had deserved a better end than pain at the brutish hands of that stone golem Grimm. He deserved to never end at all, to continue witnessing the birth and death of universes that he had whispered about in the night.

Victor sleeps for a few hours because his hands start to shake. He dreams of Loki holding him and insisting that all will be well, "but you need to wake up".

So he does. He prepares his weapons and launches his attack. He does not kill immediately. He wants them to suffer. Sadism has never been in his nature but it appeals to him now. He wants them to know this pain.

They act innocent. Unaware of their crimes. Perhaps whatever sent them to him has removed their memories along with its influence. 

"I do not even care," he tells Reed, feeling so very tired. "I should have done this so long ago."

Their daughter cries in the corner and Victor tells her to close her eyes. He will not kill the girl and will not have her witness this horror. Reed's neck squeezes like plasticene beneath his hand, but an elastic windpipe held closed is as useless as a normal one.

Green fire rises around him and he is forced to step back.

"VICTOR!"

Then Loki is between them, holding a hand out to keep him back. "Tell me you can hear me now. Please!"

"I... Loki?"

His lover's face goes lax with relief. "Finally. I have tried every spell to get through to you! Those blasted devils kept one step ahead." The green fire dissipates. "I assume this means Thor has managed to kill the little bastards. Good. Have I not warned you about these infernal bargains? Honestly you gave me a fright. I turned my back for five minutes and you almost murdered your rival." Loki blinks at him and Victor cannot stop staring. He is beautiful and alive. "Did you want to murder him? Now you're in your right mind?"

He falls to his knees at Loki's feet, overwhelmed. 

"Oh my. Love, not in front of the Fantastic Four, you'll be mortified later. Come." 

A green glow and they are back in their castle.

"Mother! Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine, Vic. Give us a moment and get ready to bed and we'll both say goodnight in a minute, alright?"

Victor watches their son shuffle back out of the room, his socks on the stone floor that is entirely free of blood.

"I thought you both dead," he murmurs once his voice has returned. 

Loki drops to his knees and wraps his arms around him. "There are few ways I can die, dear. Same for our son. It is you I worry for."

"This is all meaningless without you."

"Don't say that. All of this is who you are. And that means everything to me."

They stand together and go to their son's room. Victor joins his queen in the telling of the bedtime tale and their boy falls asleep against him. 

Then they retire for the night and Loki whispers to him about the birth and death of Universes.

"And you will be there with me, Victor. I will make sure of it."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, not chronological. (Honestly I'm not sure they'll even end up compatible...)

Charles Xavier has experienced more than any man's fair share of memorable occasions, but he will never forget the day that Loki and Victor Von Doom introduced him to their son. 

Nothing momentous occurred that day. The boy was thirteen. He sat quietly with his parents and stepped outside without complaint when they asked. A well-mannered and intelligent-seeming young man with his mind well-shielded.

"Unfortunately he has been having some problems at school," Loki said. Words Charles had heard so many times from more mundane parental figures.

"More that the school has had problems with him," Doom said, voice low and aggrieved. "They are the ones to be taught, not--"

Loki's pale hand lay over one of Doom's metal gauntlet and the man ceased what he was saying. The ruler of Latveria went to look out of the window, observing the mutants playing their sports in the yard.

It had occurred to Charles to refuse, of course. He had even said, "You assume his admission here is a given."

To which Loki had frowned and, stirring his tea, murmured, "Erik said you would be difficult. Must you prove him right? I would not have my child a part of his war and there are so few options available to mutants. Home-schooling is not a full-time solution for us."

Charles would not have Erik strengthen his ties with Latveria, so everything else is a matter of detail. Not knowing the manner of teen he is being given, Charles feels comfortable requesting exorbitant tuition fees. The supervillains do not question the cost.

Charles' school treats individuality as a given. Special circumstances are the norm. The son of Latverian royalty holds a slightly different term schedule than most of the pupils and is frequently excused to allow his attendance of formal events. 

Victor Junior - he prefers 'Vic' - quickly becomes the most popular student at the school among the pupils... and the most loathed among the tutors. 

"He's just so damned polite about his questions," seethes Scott. "I can't explain it. He knows what he's doing. He starts these debates about issues that are not up for discussion!"

"Such as?" Charles asks.

"Well... no. It's not that the topics aren't up for discussion but there's something about the way he starts these conversations. He leads the other kids away from the lesson I'm trying to teach."

"A devil's advocate," Charles suspects.

"It's like having Magneto in the classroom."

After hearing similar reports from a few of the tutors Charles listens in on one of the lessons. He watches through Ororo's eyes with her permission. It is quickly obvious what Scott means. He was wrong on one detail however. It is not Erik that Vic sounds like. Not quite. To Charles the boy sounds the very echo of the Latverian tyrant Victor Von Doom, but charming like Loki.

A dangerous combination indeed.

Despite this he excels at all of his assignments over the years. On the occasions that he is marked harshly by his tutors he appeals and Charles is forced to re-check the grading and admit the assignments are worth top marks. It would have been very easy for the boy to declare persecution, much to Charles' shame. He has to hold staff meetings to ask them to be more measured in their attitudes towards the boy.

"He's not one of us," Jean Grey argues. "His ideology is straight out of the Latverian rulebook. I don't understand why he's here instead of with Magneto."

"He is here through choice," Charles says, and adds firmly, "I do not want him or his parents to regret that choice."

Though his staff leave the room rebuked and ready to behave accordingly, the conversations leave Charles unsettled and wondering. That night he attempts again to enter the boy's mind. While he sleeps, when his guards should be lower. It sickens him to resort to it, but he has questions that will not be reliably answered any other way.

Vic's mind snaps at his like a monstrous creature, clawing and biting but with a malevolent sentience behind it. Something smart does not want him there and when Charles pulls himself back up into his chair he finds his nose is pouring with blood.

A short time later there is a knock on his door. "Enter."

Vic Doom enters the room, closing the door gently behind him. He walks up to the desk with a tissue in his hand and passes it over. He stands there, saying nothing as Charles mops the blood from his nose feeling... ashamed.

"Did you have some questions for me, Professor?" The boy asks eventually. He is seventeen now, soon to be leaving them. He has only stayed this long for the friends he has made. Too many friends. Too many minds open to his smile and his clever speeches.

"I don't know that you will answer me."

The boy smiles, that debonair grin that has the girls in his year asking shyly to take a selfie with him. "I definitely won't if you don't ask."

"Why did your parents send you here? Your father would no doubt have preferred the influence of a man like Magneto. I know that he is a friend of your parents." If there was any such sentiment amongst people like them.

"Friend is a strong word," Vic says, sliding his hands into his pockets. "But it's probably the closest to what they are, yes. And why do you think it is your influence they sent me for? My mother and father are influence enough."

They are indeed. The boy is an amalgam of them. He stands with the rigid regal bearing of Victor Von Doom and turns every subject to the matter of man's inability to govern himself. Yet his voice charms and tricks like Loki and his mutation grows towards the terrifying level of reality-alteration.

"Are you happy being them?" Charles asks before he can stop himself. For many years he has been in the business of getting young minds to think, derailing them from safe tracks if necessary. It is a habit that is hard to break.

Vic frowns at the question and looks away, thinking about it for some time. "That isn't what I am. My mother is unique. Has to be, by the very nature of deities. My father... well. I love my father. I love my father more than I love the man involved in the making of me and that is something I'm determined to show." Vic meets his gaze again, eyes almost luminous green. "Why? Why do you think they sent me here?"

"I wish I knew. Ultimately my doubt comes from one thing. That your parents are both of the greatest intellect and the most staggering power. They could have managed your needs." There have been very few power-related meltdowns from Vic in his time at the Institute. In fact, the last was only prevented by the appearance of his mother. Other than that the boy has been instrumental in the calming and controlling of others. That... there is something in that, Charles thinks.

"True. Still, a growing boy needs peers his own age," Vic says with a shrug. "No doubt they wanted me to develop social skills."

Charles knows the boy intends to tell him nothing of substance. Their conversation devolves into chit-chat.

The boy graduates with both proud parents in attendance. Loki thanks Charles sincerely for everything and the boy promises to visit the Institute when he can.

Every student that graduates with him moves to Latveria within six months. The ones that go in the final sixth month show no sign they are departing. They tell no loved ones. 

Charles never hears from those pupils again.

The most powerful migrants join the Latverian army. Even the pacifists.

One night in a fit of despair he uses Cerebro to get into their heads, to try and fight whatever compulsion has led them astray.

The monster from over a year ago tears into him, sets the machine into a fit of sparks and leaves blood gushing down his face.

"I'm sorry, Professor. But to answer your question, I am perfectly happy being them."


	15. Chapter 15

"In other global news, the Royal Family of Latveria are expecting a new addition to the family. Tyrannical ruler Victor Von Doom announced in a press conference earlier today that rumours of his Goddess' pregnancy were true! While it's difficult to show genuine enthusiasm for the continuation of the diabolical legacy, there is some hope that the new child will mellow the royals of that poor nation."

The news makes its chirpy announcement to a mostly empty workshop, echoing around the concrete and glass as Tony works almost silently on a new design. He looks up as the words filter into his consciousness and frowns at the large plasma screen. 

He looks at the image of Lady Loki's swollen belly. She's almost due, they're saying. A well-kept secret. He does a quick count in his head.

Not even six months since. That's fine. Nothing to do with him then, though it did lend a new level of kinkiness to the encounter.

Tony gets back to work and ignores the televised argument about the possibility of the world ending when Loki gives birth.

It is not long after that when he receives the invitation to the naming ceremony. He and all the other Avengers. Clint and Natasha immediately decline. Thor tuts but accepts, as does Steve. Bruce hasn't been invited and Tony doesn't know what to do with his invitation. Doesn't know why he got one. He ends up misplacing it and getting triple-booked for the day, only to shirk all of those meetings to fight a robot incursion.

"Cute baby," Steve is saying to Thor when Tony finds them in the kitchen.

"Hmm. They often begin as such. We will need to be wary."

"If you say so. Oh hey, Tony. Loki was sorry you couldn't attend."

Tony laughs as he goes into the fridge for something to take the edge off the hunger pangs. "I bet."

"He genuinely seemed so," Thor says with an unusually pensive look.

"I'm sure I'm better off not knowing why," Tony jokes before retreating back to the workshop with a packet of ham and some cheese sticks.

A few years go by without too much hassle from Latveria. Doom and Loki keep up to their usual tricks but nothing world-ending. They make public appearances with the child. It humanises them to the masses and people seem more reluctant to make assumptions about Latveria. Tony finds the whole thing ridiculous, but he doesn't like using the word 'sheeple' so he stays out of any debates about Latveria and public opinion. When asked in the occasional interview he reminds people that Doom is still a megalomaniacal tyrant, but people seem less willing to believe it when he holds a cute baby. People honestly.

"Do you ever think about it?" Pepper asks one evening as they curl up on the sofa together with the television on.

"What, Doom and Loki?" Tony wrinkles his nose. "Not really, no." More than he'd care to admit. He never has told anyone about that evening in Castle Doom and the Goddess he slept with. Thor might kill him for it. Pepper's heart would shatter. They might have been on a break but he's seen Friends, he knows how little that reasoning works.

She slaps his arm. "No, I mean, they manage to keep it all together. Kid and all. They're still ruling a country and committing acts of wanton terrorism every few months. In comparison, a company and monthly acts of heroism seem... achievable. Don't you think?"

He freezes. Whenever his brain went in this direction before he always dragged it back. "I don't know." Her face falls, but she tries not to show it. He backpedals. "Let me think about it? Just... I honestly never thought about it. I don't want to talk about it without thinking about it. Please."

Pepper glances at the jiggling of his leg and places a hand on it firmly to hold him still. "Sure," she smiles, realising he doesn't mean no.

Things happen.

No, not those kind of things.

Terrible things. World-ending things. Fighting to the death, friendship-breaking, months apart and coma-inducing things. Still they bob back to the surface like survivors of a shipwreck and life goes on, albeit with no answer to the conundrum they had considered, oh, years ago at this point. Tony is in no hurry. He has thought about it a lot by this point but still he can't be sure. He wonders if Pepper is in a hurry, if biology is a concern, but there are upsides to the strange lives that they lead. They are in the privileged position of being able to make it happen, if they so choose.

But Tony can't choose.

One day when he trudges into his office after some hard work and sinks down into his comfortable desk chair, Loki materialises in the corner of his room.

Tony jumps up. "JARVIS!"

"Neutralised," Loki says calmly. "I must discuss something with you privately."

"Jarvis isn't exactly a real person."

"Nonetheless he listens." Loki strides over to the desk and leans both palms on it. "I have a request."

"Whatever it is, no." 

"I need your help."

The bark of laughter that bursts from his throat is an ugly sound, but he can't hold it back. "After everything you've done? What, you think I've been holding a torch for you for the past..." He can't remember how long since their secret tryst.

"Seven years."

"Seven years," he repeats to finish his sentence. "Wait, you remember it exactly? Is that some god-alien-memory-trick? Or was I that damn good?"

"You were adequate and I remember the time that has lapsed because it is the age of my son."

"Oh right, yeah. You got knocked up not long before that."

Loki tilts his head. "Is that what you have been telling yourself all these years?"

What?

"Well... you were due like, a few months after."

"Longer than that. It was quite a long gestation actually, for my kind. I assume Midgard biology played a role in that."

"Wait, are you saying... Are you... You're saying... You..." Tony sits back down.

"Our encounter left me with child."

"But that's Doom's son."

"Yes."

"What?"

"He serves as an excellent father. I am not here to replace him. I am here because I need your help, as I mentioned."

"Oh right and this bomb you've just dropped, that's not supposed to distract me at all. I have a son."

Loki sighs and pulls his arms back from the desk, folding them across his black and green leather armour. "I suppose. Now--"

"I HAVE A FUCKING SON," Tony yells, standing up. He holds his temper back after that, though his breaths come hard through his nose. How could he not know? What kind of bastard could not tell him?

"Like I said, Victor serves as an excellent father. The only one Vic required. Until now."

Anger on hold briefly, Tony can't help but ask, "What's changed?"

"Very little. Our home is opulent, Victor doting as ever, our son proud to be ours. I am not here because I need you to perform the role. I am here because a vicious curse does not recognise the difference between a father in blood and a father in thought and deed. We have tried everything and..." Loki's voice hitches, the first sign of any emotion. "We are running out of time. You are the only option left to us at this point. Will you help?"

"Your son's dying."

"Yes."

"Our son."

Loki actually laughs. "Don't be so foolish. I had entertained hopes of allowing you into the child's life, but..." He shrugs his narrow shoulders slightly. "You fell at the first hurdle."

For a moment Tony doesn't know what he means. When he realises, he's utterly appalled. "The naming ceremony?!"

"The first event of the babe's life. You were too busy to attend."

"A random ceremony for the spawn of two super-villains - as far as I knew at the time."

"Victor is his father and I am his mother. If that offended you at the naming ceremony, enough to prevent your attendance, how would it have been different at the first birthday? The first day at school? The wedding? No, much better to leave you out of things you had no interest in."

Tony groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I'll help you. But..."

"Name your condition."

"I'll think of something."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Let us hope I can grant whatever wish you concoct."

Then Loki grabs his arm and everything goes dark, stomach swooping low like it does when he drops out of flight suddenly. When he can see again they are in a bedroom of Castle Doom. Doctor Doom sits in an armchair by a large double bed where a young boy lies beneath a blanket of deep green.

"I argued against this," Doom says, meeting Tony's gaze through the eyeholes of his creepy mask. "Almost to the point of losing my son. Do what you must."

He doesn't know exactly what that's supposed to be, but Loki does. A ritual with a knife and symbols drawn on the floor in blood. Blood smeared over the child's forehead. Sometimes Loki says words that sound mystical and profound, other times he talks as though what they do is easy and of no real interest. 

"Don't let Victor's glare put you off," Loki says nonchalantly as though the man isn't there. His voice is haughty, devoid of the praise he had voiced for the man earlier. "This is all his fault and he will pay dearly."

"I have agreed to," Doom says, arms folded.

Tony sits awkwardly as the conversation devolves into a domestic row between supervillains while his blood drips onto the bedspread. Apparently Victor had struck some ill-advised bargains with demons from another realm.

When the ritual is complete, the young boy in the bed gasps and opens bright green eyes. "Mother?" Loki ducks to enfold the boy in a clinging embrace, the affection almost awkward to look at from someone so ill-suited to it. "Father?" Doom strides forward and rests a hand on the boy's shoulder. Little Vic looks up between his parents with confused relief. There is no doubting the love between the three of them, psychotic supervillains or not. "What happened?" He looks over at Tony. "Why is Iron Man here?"

Ah. Well there we go. Tony looks at Loki expectantly. Time for him to break the news and let the kid know his real daddy was a billionaire genius superhero. 

Loki meets his gaze unflinchingly and says, "We needed the blood of your biological father to end the curse."

Vic blinks. "Oh." Then he reaches out a small hand to Tony. "Thank you very much for coming. But I'm quite tired now, if you'll excuse us."

Tony stares and doesn't have the opportunity to say anything before Loki returns him to his office. This time the sensation almost drops him to his knees. Would have if not for Loki's strong grip, dropping him into his chair instead.

"Well-mannered, isn't he?" The god asks with a smirk.

"Yeah. Very... civil. Like his..." Tony swallows against the lump in his throat. "Like his daddy."

"I'm glad you understand," Loki says. "If he ever asks after you, I will of course--"

"Don't."

Loki seems startled, but shrugs it off quickly. "Very well. Hopefully we shall never bother you again." As if Tony can ever expect that much from a villain.

Then he is gone. Tony wonders for a little while if he was too abrupt, too harsh. But then he remembers the cold appraisal of the mini-Loki-Doom-hybrid and reassures himself it was the right thing to say.

If that kid ever asks after him, it won't be for anything good.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was keeping this one back for later but fuck this evening and any attempts at writing. I'll have to write something else for later.
> 
> Also remember, no chronological order to speak of.

Mother is telling him a bedtime story when he feels it. Vic (an abbreviation that his father loathes) cannot figure out for a moment what it is that he senses. While mother's illusions bound about the room, portraying a wonderful story about a magpie and an eagle, Vic focuses on the wards around their home. He tugs at his mother's silky green sleeve. 

"Something's happening."

Mother frowns. He is a man this evening, as he often is when he and Father are not speaking to the commonfolk or appearing in public. Around Latveria and on television Mother is the Goddess. In their castle he is just Mother, though the eyes always remain the same. 

"You are quite right. I wonder..."

A bang makes him cry out and dive to Mother's arms. The wall crumbles a little, stones scattering down inside. Dust sprinkles from the ceiling. Only his Mother's fingers stroking gently through his hair calm him. 

"Come now, Vic. Is this anyway for a son of Doom to behave?"

Vic feels his cheeks warm. He is so glad Father is not here to see him act like such a baby. He sits back from Mother's embrace. Mother climbs down from the bed to crouch on the floor and pulls out the small sword from Grandfather Odin. He hands it over.

"Here. In case you have to defend me. Come on."

He does not think Mother is totally serious. There is nothing in all the Universe that Mother cannot destroy, Father says. Still Vic follows him out of the bedroom, pyjamas on, sword in his free hand as he grips his Mother's arm with the other.

When the hallway wall explodes inward Vic manages to barely flinch. Doombots come crashing down through the new gaping hole as if they have been knocked from the sky. Before they can right themselves to resume combat, a star-spangled shield smashes into them, ricocheting from one to another until they are all in pieces. Mother's magic is the only thing that protects them from the subsequent explosion.

Mother huffs. "Avengers."

"Why are they here?" Vic asks. The Avengers are a hero team who fight evil in America. What business have they attacking the rightful monarchs of Latveria?

"No doubt your father has offended them," Mother says through a tight jaw, sounding very vexed. "He has broken one of our little house rules, it seems."

"Which one?" Vic asks, running through them in his mind.

"He has brought his work home with him."

"Fighting the Avengers is his work? But... he's a scientist. And a king. And a diplomat. And a sorcerer." The children in the class that he sometimes attends have parents who are shopkeepers or farmers. It is difficult to be inherently superior.

"Sometimes the Avengers take issue with our work. Much in the same way that Asgard sometimes gets annoyed with my work."

"LOKI!" This time Vic does flinch. Captain America lands in the hallway as if he has dropped from a plane through the hole in the roof. His boots firm on the ground, he stomps towards them looking furious. "Where is Doom?!"

"I imagine he's here somewhere," Mother replies. He actually looks bored. Vic tries to imitate him.

"You'll tell me what you're up to, right now," the Captain orders.

"Or what?" Mother asks. "You'll beat me in front of my son?"

Captain America looks at Vic, then back at Mother. Then back at Vic. "That's a dirty move, bringing your kid to battle."

"He was reading me a story," Vic snaps. "I was in bed before you started smashing up the place."

The so-called hero ignores him. "We can't let your plans go unimpeded just because you're reckless enough to use your son as a human shield." He taps at something by his ear. "We'll need a civilian extraction and detainment for the duration of the strike. Victor Junior is in the building."

Mother looks shocked. "You aren't taking my son."

"Just while we--"

"YOU ARE NOT TAKING MY SON." Mother's eyes glow with power and the hall seems to warp. Vic's sword shakes in his hand. Captain America steps forward and Mother throws a hand out, blasting him back with arcane energy that sparks from his shield in every direction. 

Movement from above catches Vic's eye. Uncle Thor on some sort of hovercraft, raising his arm and hefting his hammer down towards them. "Mother!"

Mjolnir hurtles down and Mother looks up far too slowly, but Vic lunges forward as if his little sword can save him, jumping up and swatting at Uncle Thor's weapon of destruction. As soon as his sword taps the hammer there is a sound like a *boom*, more felt than heard. Mjolnir is cast away down the hall, colliding with Captain America's shield and sending them both careening through the wall at the top of the stairs.

"That... is a rather interesting sword that Odin has given you," his Mother says, sounding a little stunned.

"LOKI!" Uncle Thor roars.

Mother grabs Vic and in a blink they are downstairs. Not near the dining room or drawing room, but beneath that in the labyrinth of laboratories that Vic rarely explores. He has his own small lab for homework and projects, of course. That suffices.

"Victor!" Mother yells. He looks angry and Vic has to hurry to keep up with him. "Victor!"

"I'm here, calm yourself."

"Calm myself? CALM MYSELF?! You have brought the wrath of the Avengers down on our home. Little Victor's bedroom almost caved in as he lay in bed! How could you?"

Father sighs behind his metal mask. "You know as well as I do that sometimes these things cannot be helped. But I have it well in hand."

"Oh do you now?" Mother asks, arms folded and not sounding like he believes him at all.

"Yes. A small sacrifice is required on my part. The lion's share of my work on this particular project will go to waste when I let them destroy the beacon, but it is nothing I cannot regain with time."

Vic does not quite know what he means, but Mother seems to. He steps forward to join Father at the workbench and examines some readings on the monitors. "And that's already in motion."

"Notice how the castle no longer trembles?" Father points out. "The Avengers will already have been distracted. Of course I have a Doombot on board the beacon impersonating myself. They will undoubtedly think me killed when the thing explodes, though I fear we will need to rebuild this neighbourhood after the explosion."

Mother tsks as Father taps at a map. Vic looks at the area. "Why will we need to rebuild?"

"Your Father is going to blow up the thing that the Avengers think they're after. It will undoubtedly decimate the area. Hopefully it will be clear of Latveria before then, but..." Mother shrugs. "The Avengers often act rashly and quickly. That area is the most likely to be hit judging by their current speed." Mother looks at the monitors again and tsks again. "Yes, they're going to take it down within our borders. What pests."

"But Marie lives there," Vic tells them. "And Vanessa. And Ivan. That's the street near the school. Are they going to get out in time?"

His parents look at one another strangely. They do not say anything.

Vic tries again. "The Avengers won't hurt them, will they?"

"Victor," Mother murmurs to his Father, as if chiding him for something.

Father says a rude word and clenches his iron fist. "There's no time to stop it now."

"I love a challenge," Mother says with a quick smile and a flash of green light.

Magic is amazing. Vic is not allowed to practise it in any depth yet, but he learns about it from his parents and one day he will master it like his Mother. For now he admires it from atop the mountain that Mother has whisked them to as Father rests a hand on his shoulder. Mother walks through the streets towards the soaring volatile beacon, a woman again so that the people of Latveria can see their Goddess rescue them. The Avengers fire their weapons and Vic gasps, knowing what will happen if the beacon is hit. Beneath it he can see the children have stopped playing in the street, staring up at the thing casting a shadow over their game.

Mother waves a hand and it is gone. Vic smiles up at his Father, who pats him on the head. 

But the Avengers are not gone. They swoop down from above like birds of prey to attack his Mother. Father curses. "Stay here!" Then he magics himself away to Mother's side just in time to shield her from Hawkeye's arrow. It is easy to see that though Mother pretended her spell was effortless, it has exhausted her. Father brings a Doombot to intercept Tony Stark's repulsor blast then orders it to fire upon Uncle Thor. Vic can barely stand to watch. He teleports nearer, muttering a spell his parents do not know that he knows. From a street away the battle is so intense and rapid that it makes his heart race and his stomach churn.

Then he notices the rubble bouncing on the street. Scattering every second, like a rhythm is making it move. Like footsteps. As soon as he realises, he hears the thumping. The pounding against the cobblestones. He looks down the side street and sees the Hulk hurtling down, set to round the corner and smash his parents into paste.

He lets out a cry that should not come from the Son of Doom and runs as fast as his legs can carry him to his Mother and Father.

Behind him there is a monumental crash. He does not look, just runs faster. He is near now, close enough to see the fear in Mother's green eyes as she looks at him and then at something above and behind him. She reaches out, Father turns, Vic is close enough that her hand brushes his back when he turns on his heel sword out and--

The Hulk roars as the blade sinks into its gut like he is made of butter.

Vic jerks it back, shocked. The beast swings a giant green fist down at them and Vic holds his sword up with both hands. 

It stops the punch like a solid adamantium wall, sending the beast stumbling backwards. It holds its stomach, roars again, then staggers away.

"That is... an interesting sword," his Father says.

"That's what I said," Mother replies, though she sounds just as startled as she did the first time.

A glass bottle shatters against Captain America's helmet. "Ow! What the--"

Nearby Latverians are pouring from their homes, grabbing anything they can and hurtling it at the attackers. Vic sees his friend Vanessa pitch a stone straight into Tony Stark's visor.

"Everyone calm down!" The man tries to say, but no one will listen. This is not his kingdom. 

"GO HOME!" The Latverian populace yell. "AND TAKE YOUR MONSTER!"

After a good few minutes of enduring the jeers, yelling and projectiles, the Avengers are forced to retreat. Their jet arrives and they clamber on-board, the Hulk hefted along behind through the use of cables. The people throw things even at the jet and the beast.

Once the bad guys are gone, the people gather around at a respectful distance while Father helps Mother to her feet. She swoons into his arms theatrically and Father informs them all that their Goddess will need rest before performing any further miracles. Vic tries not to laugh. Mother so loves to play to the crowd.

He sees Vanessa with her father nearby and waves to her with a smile. She rushes forward at the acknowledgement. "Oh Prince Vic you were amazing! I can't believe you cut down the Hulk! Well no, I can believe it," she corrects herself. "I mean, you are of the Goddess. But wow!"

Vic shrugs, trying to look like he kills Hulks every day and isn't still shaking. 

"Your friend is welcome to join us at the castle," Father says, "But we must go now." A carriage pulls to a rapid halt besides them, the driver eager to lend aid.

Vanessa looks eagerly at her father, who nods eagerly. "Of course, of course."

So Vic has a friend over for the night. They play hide and seek until they are weary, then watch some television on a low volume when they are supposed to be sleeping. Vic is allowed to watch channels from outside of Latveria. They only receive those signals in the castle. Vanessa has never seen American news before so she is utterly startled by their version of the day's events. "Why are they talking like the Avengers are the good guys?" She asks him, hazel eyes wide and innocent.

"Because they're all fools outside of Latveria," he explains, squeezing her hand. "They don't know the things we know. They don't understand the benevolence of my parents."

She accepts it and goes to sleep at peace.

Vic knows Mother detonated the beacon over Stark Tower without evacuating any of the employees.

But he is the Son of Doom. It is good practise to tell lies to his subjects.


	17. Chapter 17

"It is an interesting conundrum," Loki says as he glances between coloured orbs on his oak table. His laboratory is not like Victor's, metal and cold. Loki's laboratory is firmly off-limits to their son, warded and secured sometimes even against Victor's trespass. It seems almost alive. Enchanted furniture and tools more sophisticated than any artificial intelligence yet designed on Earth with so many volatile and destructive items disguised as perfectly innocent and neutral objects. The ceiling should be tiled, but instead it is full of stars. Sometimes the floor is not the floor. It is a lot like Loki himself, bewitching and dangerous.

"Perhaps, but it is none of our concern," Victor says, folding his arms. 

"Oh come now, you know I dabble in things for curiosity's sake. Why not this?"

"I consider it demeaning for us to be at the beck and call of so-called heroes."

Loki chuckles, gaze still on his work. His deft fingers - one adorned with his infinity-gem wedding ring - trace a rune on the wooden surface of the table and one of the orbs changes from peach to bright orange. "Now, now. There is no need to be jealous, my love."

"Jealous?" Victor echoes. "I have never been jealous of another man so long as I have lived."

His queen finally turns his green gaze to him at that, lips curving in a barely-suppressed smile of amusement. "No?"

Victor sighs. "Other than that one. But that is only in certain minor respects. And it is not so much envy as it is an observation of total injustice."

"Absolutely," Loki nods. Over-sincere, false and fawning.

"Stop that."

With a sound that could only be called a giggle, Loki looks back at his task. "This is only the first step and the least dangerous by far. We should be grateful that Stark knew when to call me. Continued application of their own weakly-grasped science could have caused a catastrophic escape of dark energy. Enough, potentially, to have destroyed this world."

"I assume you are taking all necessary precautions."

Loki narrows his eyes at him. "With our son playing upstairs? Yes, Victor. I am not about to decimate our kingdom." He tsks with irritation and turns back to his task. Beams of light flash into existence to connect the orbs. "If I miscalculate and find the task turns unexpectedly volatile I am more than capable of absorbing the energies before they become deadly. That is a skill the Avengers cannot boast."

Victor watches him work a little longer before Loki stands up straight and says apologetically, "You will need to step out now, darling. I am going to lock the room down while I deal with the final stages." In the middle of the orbs sits a small dish. In the middle a dark red liquid throws up noxious smoke that does not fully convey the danger of its potential. 

"Very well." Victor kisses his forehead. "Be careful."

His beloved walks to the door with him and lowers the wards to allow him out. "This shouldn't take long now. Take care of Vic."

Their son is playing with toy soldiers when Victor finds him in the ballroom. It is the perfect opportunity to revisit lessons on troop formations and battle tactics. Soon their little boy will be too old for such toys and will turn his attention entirely to his laboratory of tricks and inventions. In the meantime, there is much to be learned from childish play. When Valeria Richards was fostered at Castle Doom it did her a world of good to learn whimsy from Loki. Though Victor could have personally done without having to save the 'princesses' from the dragon that Loki conjured.

The castle tremors, toppling their son's neatly lined wooden soldiers over. He frowns up at his father. "What was that?"

Victor stands. "Stay here. If there is a worse tremor in my absence activate the appropriate security protocol."

"Yes father."

As soon as Victor opens the door to the lower level of the castle it is clear that something is terribly wrong. The stone walls are bleeding shadows into a pool of darkness on the floor of the corridor at the bottom of the steps. Magic is often sinister in its appearance so it is not the sight that disturbs him. It is the feeling, possibly one that could only be perceived by someone with training in the dark arts. It is not that something is wrong here, so much as something wrong is here. Semantics perhaps, but magic liked semantics. Loki, a creature of magic, lived and breathed words.

"Loki?"

It echoes in a way it normally would not in this hall. Not an echo at all in fact, but a repetition of his voice in increasingly twisted whispers. Like something has picked up the message and is passing it on. 

At the end of the corridor the door to Loki's laboratory bursts open. The door literally bursts out of its frame and crashes down the corridor. Standing there is...

Victor pauses at the bottom of the stairs. The body is the same, not one hair out of place and even the aura of power feels similar but the eyes... 

That is not Loki. 

"Mortal," it whispers through Loki's lips as dark tendrils of power snake out down the corridor towards him like shadow vines. "Be at peace."

"Activate Doom lab protocol... beta!" Omega would be the better option, he thinks as turrets begin shooting. The beta security protocol was intended for lesser threats. Loki can easily survive the beta or alpha shutdowns. But then, that is why Victor chooses them. 

Even before he is back up the steps and out of the door, the turrets are gone. He turns back just in time to see one disintegrate as if fading from existence entirely. 

"Loki! Take back control of yourself!"

His lover's eyes are like wet tar, shining black across what should have been whites and emerald greens. He tilts his head to the side and raises a hand. "Mortal. Be at peace." More shadows. The stone around them begins to crumble.

"Activate Doom lab protocol alpha!" He shouts and dives through the door as the laboratories begin to collapse, losing years of valuable work. 

"Father?"

He runs and snatches his child by the arm, dragging him down the corridor as he runs to the armory. "You were to activate security!" He snaps.

"Where's mother?"

"Possessed? Taken?" Victor almost throws his son into the room ahead of him as he strides in and begins looking through racks of well-organised weaponry. "Currently lost to us and attempting to destroy everything. A scenario you may need to become familiar with if you intend to live long in this world. It is a fate that befalls villains and heroes, enemies and loved ones. On a semi-regular basis, for some reason."

The rifle has been modified for this purpose. Loki does not know of its existence as far as Victor knows. Potent tranquillisers stolen from Asgard are slotted in quickly. He has never tested it, worried that Loki would adapt to it without even thinking.

"You're going to shoot mother?" Their son asks, green eyes wide and fearful.

"I am going to save your mother."

If the tranquillisers are strong enough. If the rifle does not create a reaction that kills a god.

Shadows slither under the armory door. Victor pulls their son behind him and cocks his weapon. 

He does not let the thing speak when the door crashes open. He does not want that twisted whisper in their son's nightmares. Bad enough that it screams when he shoots, an agonised scream that shakes the entire castle. Electrical currents shake Loki's body as the poisons work their way into his system. Victor had to assume the thing possessing his lover amplified his power. He had to assume that Loki would survive the shot but the thing controlling him would not.

When he switches off the rifle Loki twitches twice more on the ground before going heart-stoppingly still.

"MOTHER!"

Victor is not quick enough to grab his son, who darts out from behind him and races to Loki's side. For a moment Victor fears he will be shocked, but the boy flinches from a spark that hits him like mild static and then pats his mother's face with no further harm. "Mother, wake up."

The nightmare of their deaths still haunt him and that line echoes in his ears.

"Hmm? Vic?" 

Loki's green eyes flutter open and he reaches up a trembling arm to pat his son's cheek. "Hello, sweetheart." He frowns at the ceiling. "Something happened."

"You said you were in no danger," Victor grumbles. He can feel that whatever it was is no more so feels no concern about barging past his family to go and assess the damage to the labs.

When he goes to bed hours later he refuses to face or embrace Loki, staying sullen and scowling at his side of the bed. In the morning, he finds his lover at the laboratories, rebuilt to the smallest detail with magic. 

"This is adequate," he says to the god as he examines objects for any sign of imperfections.

Loki slides his arms around him from behind. "I'm sorry, Victor."

An apology. How unusual. "You should be, for the chaos you caused."

"I'm never sorry for that."

"Then why apologise?" Victor turns in Loki's embrace and the trickster kisses him sweetly.

"I am sorry that I frightened you."

He parts his lips to argue, then closes them and nods. "Do not do it again."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the continued comments despite my complete inability to reply, guys :) I do read and appreciate them, even if it's in a crazed rush as I flit about wrapping christmas presents, writing fic and occasionally remembering to eat.

Loki has been in love before. He has birthed young before. Every time he would say that the one he loved was loyal and the children long-hoped for. 

Thor tires of his lies. 

He has killed his brother's lovers before. Since their youth Loki has been drawn to the untrustworthy and the cruel. His brother is a glutton for power in all of its forms be it gold, intellect, authority or brute strength. Once upon a time Thor feared for him. In their more innocent years Loki lost his innocence through leaps and bounds and horrible hazards. Some scenes Thor will never forget.

His brother was young when he crawled into Thor's bed weeping about his first predicament. Not too young by Asgardian social standards, so their father thought it all Loki's own fault. Thor had his own standards and slew the man that had left his brother with child. He had done it the second time too. The third he ignored, growing exasperated with his brother's self-inflicted woes. The fourth he had murdered for numerous slights against Loki's increasingly tarnished name. All the while his brother thanked him, teary-eyed and wondering what he might do. Innocent when big brother was watching.

At least Loki has grown out of that pretense, though it seems it took a mental break to sever his connection to home and family. Thor mourns the brother he knew and tries to learn the brother he has. The Midgardians have a quaint saying that one cannot choose one's own family.

And yet it seems that is exactly what Loki has done. His genius royal husband, ruler of a small kingdom with resources of use. His little boy, sharp as a knife with more than a little spark of dangerous divinity in him. Loki has chosen a family he deems fit. 

Thor wonders what it is that Loki sees in them. Certainly he has not played a game on Midgard so long with one man, though he has loved and bedded and wedded many. This seems... different, somehow. Loki seems different with them. There is a peace to him that he never usually exhibits while wearing his own forms. 

"Hey big guy, less brooding, more moving."

Tony's hand pats him on the shoulder as he finishes firing up the machine. There has been debate for over a month as to whether Tony should build a time machine in order to predict future calamity. The team did not reach a consensus, but a month was sufficient time for Tony to become bored and do it anyway. Now he needs a test subject. 

In front of Thor the wall seems almost to tear under the beam of the machine, leaving a hole into some sort of void. He thinks he sees all colours within it, but decides that is most likely his mind attempting to make sense of it. Not for the first time, he wonders what horrors his brother witnessed in his fall.

"You wish for me to enter the portal."

"Well yeah. That's the point. Now, you've got the red button to get back, just clap your hands together and say 'there's no place like home'." Tony shakes his head. "You don't have to say that. Pop culture. Don't worry. I've set it to thirty years. If it works, I might be able to narrow it down to twenty, ten... maybe even months eventually. Then we'll really be able to get all Minority Report about crime."

Thor blinks. "A pop culture reference?"

"Yeah, I'll show it to you when you get back. Now go on. I'm excited."

Captain Steve Rogers walks into the room. "Oh damn it Tony, we agreed you wouldn't--" Tony pushes at Thor's back with both arms and while he has the strength of an Asgardian infant, it sets Thor off balance and he falls into the portal. 

All is dark. At first he thinks the machine has failed and he is lost to the void.

Then he hears the rumbling. Feels a tremor beneath his feet and realises he is standing on a floor. He fumbles in the dark, finds concrete walls. Trips on an unexpected step and hits others with a grunt. Crawls up eight steps. His head bumps against wood and after some more fumbling he finds a door handle. Twisting it lets in bright light and he blinks at the bright - familiar - offices before looking back to confirm what he had thought.

Stark's laboratory is at the bottom of his eight steps. Layered in dust and abandoned.

Thor steps out into the offices of the Avengers Tower. Thirty years, Tony had said. A blink of the eye to a God, but about half a lifetime for mortals. Asgard might be as it ever was, while Midgard could be breathtakingly different. 

He makes it down a single corridor before alarms begin to sound. He hefts Mjolnir in his hand and looks around for his foe. 

"God of Thunder. Lay down your weapon," says a mechanised voice from the walls that sounds nothing like Jarvis.

"Under whose command?!" Thor shouts, turning this way and that to look for the man who would dare order him. Wall panels slide away allowing a swarm of lean robots to march out in perfect synchronisation. A dozen or so surround him. Thor laughs. "You think to frighten me with machines?"

"I think to obtain your surrender, one way or another," says a voice far behind him. Thor whirls around and sees over the shoulders of two robots, a young man at the end of the hall. "At least until I know you are no danger."

"Who are you?" Thor snaps, though he already has a suspicion he knows. Green eyes, ebony hair and the aura of royal divinity.

The man laughs. "I suppose I was a child when you last saw me, Uncle Thor."

"And what are you now?" Thor asks warily. "This is the Avengers Tower, but I doubt you joined that honourable alliance of warriors."

"Your doubt is well-placed," Vic says with a wicked grin inherited from his mother. "Your geographical knowledge less so. This is not Avengers Tower. They have not had a tower for years. Not since they were neutralised."

"Neutralised."

"Don't look like that. They started it."

"You did not answer my question."

"I didn't know I had to." Vic examines his nails idly as if bored.

"What are you now?"

"King."

"Of Latveria? Or America?" A worrying concept. His Midgardian friends have often laughed at the notion of Latverian expansion. They underestimate Thor's brother.

Vic laughs. "Of Midgard, dear uncle."

Thor's stomach twists. He tries to ignore the robots humming ever closer, hovering just above the ground with their guns ready. "Your parents are dead?" Surely that is the only way they would ever relinquish such a title.

"Not at all, though there was a bit of a scare thirty years ago with father. But then, you would know all about that. It rather set everything off, didn't it?" Vic narrows his eyes. "No, father and mother rule all of the realms. Naturally. I have a little sister due soon. She will have a realm suited to her temperament, whichever mother thinks is best."

"And you rule through intimidation and deceit."

"A terrible assumption. But not entirely inaccurate. Not entirely accurate either. I think it would be most apt to say that we had to train the people to love us." Vic smiled. "But now they do. Humans learn so quickly. They're an adaptable people."

Thor wants to hear no more. He wants to kill his nephew, or imprison him as he did Loki's other monstrous children. But what would be the use of that now, with crimes already committed? "The Avengers are dead."

"Yes. My biological father lasted the longest. I think mother held back out of..." Vic waves a hand dismissively and wrinkles his nose. "I don't really know. I never understood all that. But Tony Stark wasn't cut out for the new world we made." Vic laughs and it is like ice-water down the spine. "The only hero to win against us and lose to his own demons."

"Tony Stark was your father?"

"Didn't you know that?" Vic asks, eyes narrowed again. "Where did you come from? When?" When Thor remains silent the boy takes a deep breath and barks, "Tell me!" All Doom now, head held high and proud. Not thinking for one moment that he might be denied.

"No," Thor says simply and claps his hands as the robots lunge for him.

The button does its trick and he crashes through a coffee table. Playing cards rain down upon him as Clint Barton sits with two held out in a triangle shape. "Dude. I was making a pyramid. Literally had the top two cards ready. This isn't a fucking sitcom, you can't do that to me."

Thor clambers upright. Tony comes rushing out of his lab. "Did it work?" The engineer asks breathlessly. Excited. Alive. "What did you see?"

"Our next greatest foe," Thor tells him. "My course of action is clear." He heads to the balcony.

"Where are you going?" Tony calls.

"To kill my nephew."

He flies high and as fast as lightning. Latveria is far, but within reach for a determined God. He will not trade words with his brother or Doom. He will harden his heart against any attempts at manipulation their child might make. This dark deed he does for the sake of Midgard. Loki's evil cannot be permitted to take over this world.

The child gasps at his sudden arrival but shows no fear, despite the storm that follows. "Uncle Thor?"

"Hello Vic." Mjolnir feels heavy in his hand. He crouches beside the boy. "I hope you don't mind my visit."

"Of course not!" Vic says, delighted. It stings. "Mother is out presiding over one of the church ceremonies, but father is downstairs."

When Vic turns back to his chest of toys, Thor raises his hammer and wills his stomach to turn to iron so that he might carry out this atrocious deed.

"AWAY FROM THE SON OF DOOM!"

Thor calls the storm down through the hammer and casts it at the sudden interruption. Doom is sent back through the doorway and Vic screams at the continued current of lightning directed at his father.

"Stop it! STOP IT!" Then louder than anything so far, "MOTHER!"

The room flashes green and Thor finds himself crashing back into the stone wall. As he pushes himself up on hands and knees he sees his brother in female form crouching down by his husband. "Victor. Victor! Talk to me."

Horrible rasping noises are the only sound. Vic wails and runs to his mother's side, immediately embraced by one arm as the other drops magic upon Doom's body to try and heal the damage done. 

"I don't know why you would do this," Loki whispers. "Am I allowed nothing?" Before Thor can even try to explain, his brother turns his feminine head and growls, "Everything you take from me I will thieve back tenfold. Be thankful my husband will live. I would steal your world for this."

At this, Thor loses his appetite for pre-emptive justice. He leaves Latveria immediately and returns to his tower meant for heroes. His friends nervously ask questions and seem relieved that he did not kill his nephew. Even when he tells them why he attempted it.

"We just don't do that sort of thing," Steve Rogers says with a weak smile. "We'll fight the threat when it comes. If it comes."

Thor agrees and promises to stand by them, even if the enemy is of his blood.

When he retires to bed his mind dwells on the dark future he has seen. Loki's threat. And Vic's nonchalant mention of the fate that had nearly befallen his father, thirty years before.

_"It rather set everything off, didn't it?"_

He has made a terrible mistake.


	19. Chapter 19

"Darling, you worry far too much."

Mother sounds sedate that morning, which could be a good sign or a very bad one. She tosses her long dark hair over her shoulder and continues reading her magazine as Father storms about the place.

"It is the new suit! I must wear it today! Surely you have seen it."

Vic shakes his head like his mother, even though he knows the demand is not directed at him. "Sorry Father. Will none of the others suffice?"

"They will not. Today I fully intend to make it clear how foolish Richards is. I need my suit!"

"Well I don't know where you put it," Mother mutters. 

"You could help me find it."

She rolls her green eyes. "You had it. You put it somewhere. How am I more likely to find it? What, do you think I'm magic or something?"

Yes, Vic thinks, but it is a weird thought. For a moment his Mother seems a Goddess and he imagines her bestowing miracles upon loyal followers and casting spells in an ancient castle.

The moment passes and Vic is confused by it. Perhaps he was only remembering a dream. A castle would be much nicer than their tatty old semi-detached two-bedroom house. Their neighbours are so annoying.

Eventually Father storms through having found his suit. Mother glances up and nods approvingly. "I like the grey and green. Which is just as well. It cost enough."

"Of my money. Which you spend more." 

Vic wishes him luck as he leaves. Mother puts her feet up. "Which of your little friends are you visiting today?" She asks.

"Mother, my 'little friends' are all my age." She raises her eyebrows. "Like, fifteen."

"And?"

He sighs. A losing battle. She will probably call them his 'little friends' when he is nearly forty and she is grey. "I'll nip over to Vanessa's to work on this essay for a bit, then we might go and see the others. What are you up to today?"

"Oh, you know me. Housework. A nap. Beauty treatments. The usual."

Lie, lie and lie. Vic tries to bite his tongue, as he has so many times. "You know, Father found boxers that weren't his in the laundry. I told him they were mine but... they weren't."

She stares at him for a few moments. Then she sets her magazine aside. Vic thinks maybe she will apologise and promise to stop all the things that she does. She pulls him into a hug and he inhales her perfume. "Oh Vic, sweetheart. You're a good boy."

Then she lets him go without so much as a false promise. When she goes to her room, Vic follows. He talks about his essay and she pretends to be interested. It's quite irritating really - when she applies herself his mother is a genius. But it is like she cannot be bothered. He sits on her bed while she applies her eyeliner in the mirror. 

"It's the sort of work they've been doing at Father's company," Vic says. "He's really impressed. I think." It is always so hard to tell. "More theoretical on my side, obviously." Mother sighs and it hits like a brick. "Are you... disappointed in me?"

"What?" She asks, startled. She turns back from the mirror, eyes all made-up. "Not at all! No, Vic." She looks up at the ceiling and frowns at the little star patterns painted there. They are not real constellations, Vic knows, but somehow they seem familiar. Somewhere they could be real. "I feel there should be more for you than this. Does that make sense?"

It does. "I feel the same for you, Mother." He remembers his dream of her as a Goddess.

"I think the same when I look at your father." She paces, balance uncanny in her stiletto heels. "Look at his work. Look at his mind, his drive. He should be a King." She seems almost confused when she murmurs to herself, "Why is he not a King?"

"These things just happen," Vic tries. "Life isn't fair."

"No. But it feels wrong somehow." Mother sighs and forces a smile for him. "Oh ignore me. Most likely I'm just suffering with the pills again." And she walks out. Vic follows her to the bathroom.

"You should stop taking them. I know the doctor said you need them, but maybe she's wrong."

"I'll be sure to suggest that on my next visit." Mother plucks two pills from the bottle and wanders down to the kitchen, Vic still close behind as she gets some water from the tap to take her medicine with. Through the door they can see the television showing the preparations for the royal visit. "Something troubles me about those Maximoffs," Mother murmurs as images of their rulers appear on the screen. "I cannot quite put my finger on it."

"They have done wonderful things for mutants though. And they keep the peace better than any sort of democracy."

He feels dizzy and loses track of a thought at the edge of his conscious mind.

"Are you alright, Vic?"

"Just dizzy. Been feeling weird today."

"There must be something going around. Or a gas leak. I've been dizzy too." Mother glances at the little carbon monoxide detector by the kitchen boiler, but it continues shining its little green light.

Vic walks out of the kitchen to the television and looks at the footage from last month's parade. The royal family look proud and content. As they should. "I wonder what it's like?"

Mother sighs. "I imagine it is utterly divine."

Eager to get away from the depressing mood of the house, Vic soon makes a move and heads over to Vanessa's. Her lifestyle is pretty much the same as his except her parents are not miserable. That in itself is strange to him - her father works at a low-level in Vic's Father's company. Her mother works at the bakery. Long shifts and poor pay, both of them. Yet they seem happy.

"Your parents are just..." Vanessa shrugs. "I don't want to be rude. But they're kind of greedy. They think they should have the world."

They *should* have the world, Vic thinks bitterly. "Times are just hard, I guess."

"Maybe your mother will get to go to America after all, and will take you with her. Tony Stark does well for himself, for a non-mutant."

Vic shushes her. "Keep your voice down! I told you that in confidence!"

"And you think that was the first I heard of it?" Vanessa eyes him sceptically. "Thos fancy ambassador functions they have are seen by anyone who's anyone. And filmed. Everyone knows how your mother flirts with Stark. And what other reason has he got to come here anyway? His factory can run its own business by now. There was no reason for him to be flying in on his fancy helicopter after the first few months."

"Because you know so much about running factories," Vic snaps.

"Everyone knows, Vic," Vanessa says, though she at least looks sorry about it.

"My father doesn't so shush."

"Are you sure? He's a smart man."

Vic says he is sure. But he is not. Father's moods have been harder to predict lately. Perhaps he does know. But how could he stay silent about it?

After Vanessa's and a trip to meet their other friends at the park, Vic trudges home to find his Father back but his Mother absent. They have dinner while discussing his continued work on his essay. They do not discuss Mother, even as it gets late. Eventually, when the clock hits eleven, Vic stands and says, "I should go to bed. I'd hoped Mother would be back by now."

"Your mother is a force of nature. No man can control her. Not me. Not you."

"If that's the case then she's wasted here."

"You both are," Father replies solemnly.

How did they all become so miserable?

He is still lying awake when Mother comes home. He hears the low tones of conversation and they go on so innocuously that he is almost asleep when the first shout startles him fully awake.

"I cannot PRETEND, Victor! This is NO life!"

"It is what we have!" Father barks back. "I do my best for you and your son!"

"Well it's not enough!" Vic creeps out of bed and crouches at the top of the stairs to hear them better. Mother's voice lowers. "Last night I dreamt I was a queen. And a Goddess. I wake and I am a housewife. A mother. A harlot scorned by the town."

"Not by me. And yet you wish I was Erik Lensherr."

"No."

"Tony Stark then."

"No! Victor, I would not be without you. My trouble is not with you or Vic. It is with this house. It is always FILTHY here."

"You should clean more."

"I don't know how."

"What?"

"You heard me. I don't know how. Victor, yesterday I went to deal with the pile of washed clothes that had dried by the heater. I intended to iron them and found I did not. Know. How. I thought no bother, I shall wash some more while I think. Tell me though, did we get a new washing machine? And did I ever learn how to use it? I went to the store to buy us groceries and I DID NOT KNOW WHERE TO LOOK. I am not made for this life and I don't know..." Mother sounds distraught and Vic's chest tightens at the sniffs in her voice. "I don't know how we got here. Am I going mad?"

"Only if I am also mad. I was well-prepared for today's discussion with Richards. I went in and readied my presentation and it went swimmingly. But he did not attend."

"That's a shame, but--"

"Let me finish. He did not attend because there is no Reed Richards at my company. My underlings seemed confused by the name so I searched the employee records afterwards. There was no sign of this man whose very name makes me shiver with rage. An imaginary nemesis."

"Something is wrong. Do you think it is some sort of social experiment? A psychological exercise on a larger scale?"

"Just discussing it sounds like madness."

"Where does Vic go to school?"

"Sorry?"

"Where does our son attend school? And when? He has these essays. All this homework. Who sets it? When did he last attend class?"

"I..."

Vic feels a sudden chill. They are at the moment in the horror film where someone has just told him that the call came from inside the house. He has been thinking that none of this makes sense. But he had chalked it up to self-aware teenage angst. Now he sees clearly that NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE.

"What?" Mother asks.

"Your eyes have never been so green."

"Is now the time for this?"

"They are *glowing*, Loki."

The house begins to take on a reddish hue. It is coming from outside, like a red streetlamp through the window. Just as Vic looks up, the glass smashes and Wanda Maximoff lifts him into the air by the collar of his nightshirt.

His parents rush up the stairs, but what can they do? Father holds Mother back and shouts, "Release our son! He has committed no crime!"

"I am aware. The crime is entirely yours." Vic struggles in her grip. She is bizarrely stronger than she looks. Clearly rumours of her humanity were untrue. She is a mutant after all. "The political nature of this land is not for you to question. Reality is not for you to question. My family will take care of Vic until you show you can be trusted to be productive citizens."

This close to her Vic can feel a pulsing energy. It turns everything red that he can see. When he closes his eyes he can feel it in the air. Perhaps he is suffering the same sickness of the brain that his parents are, but it almost feels like something is echoing. Not sound but... none of it is easy to explain. Whatever it is, it stops at Mother. Mother sends out her own energy. It chips at the edges of this suffocating field. When Wanda Maximoff rises from the ground with Vic in her arms, Mother's energy lasers into them and drops the princess back down to the floor. Vic falls to his hands and knees.

"You are not taking my son."

When Victor opens his eyes he can see what his Father meant. Mother's eyes are glowing like something magical. 

And... he has heard her say that before. In a stone corridor. A castle. Captain America and Mother was a man but still Mother and Uncle Thor was there, they were fighting and Father was downstairs making plans befitting a King...

"Stop that!" Wanda cries out. Vic did not even realise he was doing anything, but the energy he had felt starts to divert around him as if he has made a bubble to protect himself. "You'll ruin everything!"

He looks at his mother, whose green eyes are wide and worried. "Vic? Darling, what is it?"

"I remember something, Mother."

"What?"

"Asgard."

She blinks. Then slowly her lips curve into a truly frightening smile. "Oh yes. That." She looks at Wanda, who is edging back towards the broken window. "There is only so much a witch can hide."

"Loki?" Father asks unsure.

Mother waves a hand and green light takes the form of a metal mask. "Yours, my love. My King."

As Father takes it a spark jumps between their hands. His face begins to peel away and he quickly presses his mask on. "This is an insult of the greatest severity," he says gravely.

Wanda Maximoff attempts to flee. Reality warps around her and *that* is what Vic had felt. The energy had been magic. Mother dashes it away with a wave of her hand.

"Enough of that, little girl. Your veil is torn." The red light fades from the hall, plunging them all into a darkness where only Mother's eyes can be seen. "I see you."

Wanda cries out, but Vic feels the strongest sense of peace. They are going to take their home back. And even with everything stripped away from them, they have proved themselves the ever-resilient Family Von Doom.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god what a terrible day.

"I HATE THIS CASTLE!" Vic screams, slamming a door.

Loki raises an eyebrow. In a way it is actually amusing. Their home has long been a bastion of discipline, reason and power. They are viewed by Latveria and the world as regal, immaculate and *superior*. As it should be. The only instances of discord and chaos come from Loki and he manages those better than he used to. He is more settled, more happy than he once was. 

Vic has always taken after his father. In his youth he adopted a tendency to say, "Oh mother," with fond exasperation ill-suited to one so little. He liked his suits, his time alone to work on projects and an organised schedule. He did not exhibit the so-called Midgardian 'terrible-twos' or the teenage angst they spoke of that was expected around the start of high school. Nor did he show any signs of Loki's own distemper or mental illness. In fact, he was saner than either of his parents.

Alas he is sixteen now and the moods are finally starting to swing. 

"What began this again?" Loki asks his husband.

"I asked if the servants might have access to his room for cleaning purposes," Victor grumbles. He storms across the room and flings the door open. Vic has not gone far. "Come back here right now!"

"Make me!" Vic snaps back.

"You will not speak to me in such a manner! You have been raised to treat your Mother and Father with respect!"

"You're not my Father!"

Loki gasps as if struck. Victor freezes. Then slowly he turns to Loki, who stands from the dinner table and goes to his side. "Oh Victor, he did not mean it."

His husband does not reply to that exactly. When he speaks it is loud enough for Vic to hear. "Control your son or I will not have him in my family home."

Words to wince at. Down the hall, Vic's expression goes from regret to anger. "Oh *wow*," the boy says, "Is that it? Is that all it takes to be disowned? A random, impulsive comment? What the FUCK, *Victor*?"

"That is enough," Loki snaps.

"Just because you have a thing for castles doesn't mean I want to stay!"

"Apologise," Victor says firmly.

"Fuck. You."

Windows shatter, buffetted by the volatile mix of Loki's magic and Vic's. There have been a few incidents of uncontrolled power in his adolescent years, to be expected from a demi-god mutant with magical aptitude. 

"Go to your room," Loki says.

"You can't just--"

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Loki screams, enraged and that finally does the trick. Admittedly the fires starting around the place and the disintegration of certain ornaments most likely assisted.

He is still breathing hard and agitated when his son's door slams upstairs and Victor's hand curls gently around his shoulder. "Be calm, love."

"I am so sorry, Victor."

"Why? You are not at fault."

"Things would be so much easier if he were born of your body."

But Victor shakes his head. "I doubt it. He would find another barb to throw at me. We must decide on an adequate tactic to rein in this behaviour, though. I would not like to disinherit him but I will not watch him continue to act out like this. It may suit some families to pander to it, but he is a Von Doom."

"He is."

"Perhaps you should discuss it with him gently. As you would have in his younger years. He has always responded well to your diplomatic side." And depended on Victor when Loki's more chaotic nature took over.

So Loki takes some of the nice bread rolls and meats from their dinner and goes to visit their son in his room. He knocks lightly at the door and is told to "go away".

"I have sandwich materials." Silence. The door swings open under Loki's push of magic. His son lies on the bed, face in a pillow. "Is that a no to sandwich materials?"

Vic sits up with a huff and sulks at the food. "Fine."

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Rude."

"Please may I have some food mother?"

"Of course!" Loki smiles and walks in, setting the plates down on Vic's right and sitting down at his left. "See now, was that not a pleasant interaction?"

"You can't just condition me like I'm a dog," Vic grumbles as he begins arranging the meat on the bread.

"A dog would have fewer expectations and less emotional investment. If it disappointed us we would have it put down."

"And if I disappoint you?" Vic asks.

"That won't be possible if you try. You are brilliant."

"What if I don't try? What if I decide I want to run away with a classmate and become a surfer in Australia?"

Loki smiles. He cannot help but be amused now. "I fear you would find the life bores you after a time. You were made to overcome challenges, to thrive on conflict to demonstrate your superiority. To experiment with reality itself and bend it to your will."

"Maybe I don't want to do that."

"Or maybe you do but you don't want to do what we want you to do so you have to pretend the idea bothers you."

Vic scowls at him as he stuffs ham and bread into his face. After swallowing his food he says, "What makes you so sure?"

"I knew what I wanted from a young age. My parents set me up for it, or so I thought. I thought I had to work to get it. Even though I wanted it, I spent some years pretending I didn't want it. I did things against the reputation of my family to prove that I was my own person and that I was clever. I liked seeing the exasperation on the faces of your grandparents."

"Then what?"

"Well then I found out I had been labouring under false assumptions and they had never expected more from me than the rebellion I had been faking. The life I thought they were preparing for me was a lie. All that time trying to fight against expectations they never really had..." Loki laughs slightly. "But youth is the time for mistakes."

"You're right in a way," his son says, as if that is at all to be questioned. "But there are ways I could be ambitious without being like you and Father."

"Are we so terrible?" Loki asks.

"No! But I want to be me. Some of the kids at the Institute say that I'm just a hybrid of you and Father. I don't like that."

"They're stupid," Loki shrugs.

"Definitely. But what if I was a superhero? Like, with a costume and cape. You and Father are the heroes of Latveria, but I could be a global hero. I could make other places fans of Latveria. I could make them see we're okay."

"Okay by whose standards?" Loki asks. "This is nonsense, Vic. Are you telling me you want to be one of Xavier's X-Men or something? That isn't the plan."

"I know, I know. Don't worry, the plan is fine. I'll go through with that. But after graduation I thought I could join the Avengers or something."

"The Avengers." Loki's blood runs cold.

"I'm sure Uncle Thor or Tony Stark could be persuaded. I'm family, after all."

Loki swallows, trying to imagine ways of breaking the news to his husband. "I was not aware you and Stark were so close." 

"We're not. I've messaged him a few times about his work. He has some interesting insights but I think he holds back a little out of distrust. He swings by the Institute occasionally, you see."

"Would you move to their shiny tower then?" Loki asks, voice shaking. "If you wish to be disinherited you must say so that me and your *real* Father, who has fought and bled for you, can investigate our options."

"If you're trying to make me feel bad, it's working," Vic grumbles. "It was just an idea. I thought I could call myself the Latverian Lance or something. I'd have the national flag on my super-suit."

"Don't you dare," Loki growls. He stands from the bed and glares down at his son. "If you insist on engaging in such idiocy you do it alone. Do not drag this family's name into the dirt. It was a gift to me and you both."

Although he leaves the room furious without another word, the discussion seems to have had its intended effect. Vic visits the lab later that night and apologises to Victor, promising some form of reparations for his behaviour. He returns to being the model son. He continues excelling at his studies and Loki decides to leave him in Xavier's school, where he can spread the word of the benefits that accompany a life in Latveria. He is a persuasive young man and when he graduates a small army of mutants come to Latveria.

Loki thinks the rebellion is over. Vic works hard at his projects and joins his Father in diplomatic outings. He attends some of his Mother's religious services (Loki tells him which ones are appropriate). The people love him and he seems to love the people. They discuss possibilities for the future and Vic always nods along, though he mostly stays quiet on the matter. Loki assumes he worries about taking responsibility away from his parents. It is only to be expected. He loves them and must not want to consider a life without their guidance. Other villains mock their closeness as a family, envious.

One day they do not see their son at all. It is not entirely unexpected with all the projects the three of them have. But the next day Loki looks for him and cannot find him. Not in his room, the labs, the kitchens or studies, the games room or the gardens. Calls go to voicemail. He contacts Vic's friends and they have not seen him. Loki tries a scrying spell but finds himself blocked.

Checking Vic's room again he finds many of his son's things are gone. And there is a device on the bed. When Loki picks it up, it generates a hologram of his son apologising. Saying goodbye, "for now".

He next sees Vic on the news in a super-suit saving families from a flood in the UK. Then foiling a super-villain bank robbery in America. The news names him Iron Boy and Victor tears the television from the wall.

Loki mourns.

They throw themselves into their work after that, interrupting hours of focused genius with bouts of fervent love-making. They hatch wonderful dark schemes and plot terrible things.

One of these plots brings the Avengers to their door. Well, to Latverian soil at least. Loki welcomes the fight. It has been too long since he cut loose against them. One fights differently when one's son is waiting at home for them, after all. His husband can take care of himself and Loki has little else to lose. 

"You shame yourself with this behaviour!" Thor shouts. "And you shame your son!" He gestures across the battlefield to where 'Iron Boy' hovers, watching the fight. Moving civilian bystanders. 

It is but a little trick to divert his brother and send Mjolnir crashing into Clint Barton instead. Loki weaves his spells around Stark, the same trickery redirecting a repulsor blast against poor Natasha Romanoff. Soon it comes down to Captain America, who holds his shield bravely against Loki and his husband.

The Captain shouts back over his shoulder, "Vic! Help!"

Loki looks up. Through the shaded glass of the suit's visor he can see Vic's eyes. 

After Victor manages to wrestle the shield from Captain America's grasp (a commendable display of strength - Loki shall reward that later), Loki is fast enough to trip the star-spangled man to the ground. He raises a knife above the man's chest.

"VIC!" The Captain shouts as he tries to fight Loki off while Victor pins his arms.

With a smile, Loki looks to their son. "Well? Aren't you going to stop me, little Avenger?"

"Mother, don't."

"Stop me."

"Please, Mother."

"Come now, you have the weaponry."

"Do not goad him," Victor cautions.

Loki does not heed him. "A blast to the chest and one to the face. I would struggle to heal. I can feel the magic in your machine from here. I'm sure it would be lethal."

"Get off of him, Mother."

"Make me," Loki teases. "I am certain the Avengers would be *very* grateful. The world outside of Latveria would adore you. That is what you want, yes? Here is the opportunity."

"Why?" Vic begs. "Why would you do this?"

"I am your Mother. It is my duty to give you opportunities to be happy. Alright." Loki winks. "Let's start over. I am going to plunge this knife into his heart in three seconds. Stop me, hero. Three."

"Mother..."

"Two. Hurry up, Vic."

"That's not what I want!"

"One."

Loki drops his arms down, knife vanishing into mist as it hits the Captain's costume. Then he climbs off of the Captain and Victor releases the man's arms. 

"The cargo is headed North-East by air. You and your team should make it if you hurry."

He strides away, Victor following. 

Their son returns that night and sobs when they forgive him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one I'm afraid. I have an interview and a four hour train journey tomorrow so things have gotten a little panicked! I'll be trying to email myself the stuff I've written so far to continue posting over the next few days while I'm visiting relatives.

The plan fails, as they often seem to do. A disastrous combination of bad luck and incompetent underlings. Victor struggles against the odds and manages to best half of his foes.

As he narrowly escapes a torrent of flame he wonders if a rescue is incoming, then scolds himself for such weakness. Life with Loki will make him soft if he allows himself to become dependent on its comforts. 

Richards outdoes himself. Bastard. Victor almost manages to evade the trap but in his attempt, he falls into another. Only the presence of a nearby damaged Doombot allows Victor an opportunity to avoid capture. He activates the localised transporter and manages to make it to his jet.

His on-board team know the drill. When he regains consciousness they are already in the air en-route to Latveria. 

"What time is it?"

"Please rest," they beg. One doctor dares to try and push him back down on the bed. "You are so wounded, you must heal."

Victor grabs him by the throat and squeezes. "Do not presume to tell Doom what Doom must do. Get this jet back to the Castle as fast as you can!" He throws the man down to the floor.

He eases himself back into unconsciousness and is awoken tentatively by very nervous staff. They ask if he wishes for anything - a tactful way of anticipating that he may require assistance. Victor shakes his head and forces himself to stand strong. He strides out confidently. 

Rather than head up the path he takes a detour to the gardens. He passes the fountains and the pond, making his way to the bench that Loki favours for reading. A little further on is the treasure he seeks. The royal gardener's quaint little hut is not far and when the woman sees Victor she scurries out and offers assistance in his task that Victor accepts merely because she has the necessary tools to hand.

After he has obtained his beautiful bouquet he returns to his home. Doombots open the large doors for him and he enters the foyer. "Loki?"

"Oh, you are here." Loki peeks out from the doorway of the library. "I had started to wonder." When she steps out - female form today - Victor's breath is stolen away. It so often is with such a beautiful lover, whichever form he chooses.

"A stunning dress."

"I thought we were going for dinner," she said, tilting her head.

"We are. My deepest apologies for my tardiness." He hands the flowers to her and she smiles widely. 

"My favourites," she sighs. "You charmer."

"Come now. I have a car ready."

Loki's eyes are mischievous but she follows him, taking his arm. As they reach the door, she says, "You're hurt."

"Barely."

"You are leaving a small trail of blood, darling."

When he looks back he sees this is true. A quick pat down of himself and an assessment of tender areas suggests the dressings around his abdomen have soaked through. "It is nothing to be concerned over."

"Victor..."

"It is date night," he says firmly. "I have already delayed us enough."

Loki steps in front of him and holds out a hand. "I love you dearly, but you have the capacity for unparalleled stupidity. Let us go to our room and get you all healed up."

"But... But it is date night. Do you not long for steak?"

"More than life itself. But I do not intend to spend the evening talking to a lump of bleeding meat while I devour one. Bedroom. Now."

"Date night. The car--"

"Will stay all night and in the morning we will wake the driver and he will take us for breakfast. Now get yourself to bed while I magic up a vase worthy of my flowers."

Victor grumbles but does as he is asked. As he trudges up the stairs he hears Loki mutter.

"It isn't as though we wouldn't end up in your bed anyway."


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that this chapter contains explicit Tony/Loki (known in the 'biz' as frostiron). It has elements of dub-con to it, so please skip it if that displeases.
> 
> Also a reminder that these chapters are not in chronological order. This chapter deals with the conception of Vic.

Loki is not getting involved in Victor's latest scheme. When the castle masonry begins to crumble under the attacks of the Avengers, he sighs and goes to take a bath. He has a service this evening and wants to look his best. His magic will take care of his appearance of course, but there is something to be said for the relaxing properties of a hot bath. 

In the marble room he strips off his clothes and shifts to his female form, examining himself in the full-length mirror. He cups his breasts gently then examines his pout as the water fills the pool set into the floor. He ponders what he will wear for the evening service. Tonight they are having an execution. Some political problem of Victor's. Prior to Loki's life in Latveria, Victor would have simply imprisoned the man or had someone take him out in the middle of the street. Public relations had never been an interest of his.

But Loki likes to make a game of it. His cult is a toy and he can use it in many ways. He has turned civil disobedience into a sin and turned himself into a maternal goddess that they hate to disappoint.

His pout turns to a smirk as he wonders what his mother would say. Most likely she would just roll her eyes and shake her head fondly at his eccentricity. Mother tolerated his games long after Odin grew tired of them.

The bath is deep and hot and Loki moans as he stretches in the water. His Jotun heritage never displayed any signs to him when it came to temperature - he loved heat as much as any Asgardian, though it did have a tendency to make him a little lightheaded.

As he relaxes in the bath and dabs at his feminine skin with a soft sponge, the castle shudders. Victor had been doing quite well when Loki last looked in on him, but victory never seems to fall to them when the Avengers are involved. Loki wonders idly if Thor is around.

A piece of ceiling tile falls towards the bath but disintegrates as it passes through Loki's invisible shield. He is not having his bath ruined through Victor's poor planning. If the entire castle falls down around their ears this bathroom will be protected with him bathing within. He does so hope the Avengers leave things intact though. He has only just persuaded Victor to allow him some control over the furniture arrangements.

In the hallway outside, a brash familiar voice cries out. "Oh come on, someone copy! Cap? Widow? Thor?"

Loki waves a hand curiously, scrying in the bathwater for Stark's companions. He sees Victor has outdone himself - Thor and the Hulk are barely a match for the new model of the Doombot outside while Captain America sits bound with Barton and Romanoff as they try to escape the wards set up in the dungeons. Failure is still the most likely outcome, but Loki will reward this brilliant effort.

He waves away the image from his bathwater just as Stark bursts in the door, wrist repulsor aimed. "Alright, where's..." He trails off. "Oh. Um. Wow. I'm sorry." He brings his arm back down to his side quickly. "Excuse me. How rude."

Stark does not seem to recognise Loki's female form. What an interesting opportunity. While Loki had told Victor he would not meddle in the day's plans, Stark is always the most dangerous opponent for them. Smarter than the rest with technology that outranks Victor's, though Loki only dares to say it when he wants a domestic row.

Twisting in the water, Loki leans up on the side of the pool, ensuring his breasts are pushed up by the ledge. Stark's gaze flickers down to them. "What are you doing here?" Loki asks as innocently as he can.

"Your uh..." Stark licks his lips then clears his throat and shakes himself, finally meeting Loki's eyes again. "Doom has been up to no good. The Avengers are here to stop him. That's how this works. You're his Goddess, right? I've seen you on the news. You're always with him."

"I'm not with him now," Loki says, licking his full lips. "What are you going to do to me?" A little tendril of magic snakes out to the man, invisible but deadlier than any glowing blast. It sinks into the suit, seeks out the skin. Sinks into the skin, seeks out the blood. Travels the blood into the heart. Pumps itself around the body. Not a conventional poison that kills the body, but an emotional poison that kills honour. Loki learned it from Amora a long time ago. He uses it sparingly for a number of reasons.

The Iron Man faceplate rises up, revealing Tony Stark through the steamy air of the bathroom. "It's dangerous here. You should leave."

Loki pushes back from the ledge and glides back in the water, breasts on display as he leans back against the opposite side of the pool. "I'm bathing."

"So I see," Stark says, a little strained. Loki twists his fingers in the water, casting a little trick to increase the heat of the room by a few degrees. It is sufficient to make Stark sweat and he soon removes his helmet, sets it down by the toilet. "But seriously, it isn't safe. There's a battle going on. You must have realised."

"Doom always protects me," Loki says, projecting as much sincerity as he can. 

"Look sweetheart." Stark approaches the pool, running a hand through his hair and across his forehead in the heat. "Doom can't even protect himself. Your loyalty's adorable but he's gonna lose and when he does, he's not going to be able to protect you."

"From you?" Loki asks, trying to look frightened.

"I wouldn't hurt you," Stark insists. "Fuck but it's hot in here, how can you stand it? Hang on." He does something with his gloved hands and the suit detaches itself from him, folding metal until it is the size of a briefcase. Stark stands in a pair of black sweatpants by the bath. Guard down completely. Loki knows he is not normally so easily steered and wonders if he overdid the spell. Or perhaps he is simply that lovely in female form. Victor certainly enjoys this form, when Loki wears it in bed. "The Avengers won't hurt an innocent bystander," Stark says imploringly as he kneels by the bath.

"Oh, I'm far from innocent," Loki chuckles, picking up his sponge and beginning to run it up and down each arm before bringing it to his breasts. Out the corner of his eye he sees Stark's adam's apple bob in his throat as Loki moves the sponge in slow circles around each nipple.

At the edge of his hearing there is a quiet, "Tony?"

Stark rushes over to his discarded helmet and puts it on. Loki takes the opportunity to admire the erection tenting the man's trousers. Victor would not mind him taking advantage of this. Quite the opposite, if it means Iron Man will not be rescuing his friends.

"I'm on it. I'm just relocating a civilian, then I'm there."

By the time he removes the helmet and turns back to the bath, Loki has a leg up on the side displaying effortless flexibility as he rocks back and forth to run the sponge up and down his shin. Stark comes back and kneels down by the bath again. Close enough to be inappropriate. Close enough to kiss and touch without reaching. "How did you come to be here?" He asks quietly. "In Latveria, I mean. Are you a mutant?"

Loki smiles at him. "Do you think I am a mutant?"

"I honestly don't know what you are. I need to get you out of here."

"When I am washed," Loki says. He hands Stark the sponge. "Do my back?" He turns away, sweeping waterlogged long black hair over one shoulder to expose his skin to Iron Man's hungry gaze.

"Then will you leave?"

"If I must."

So one of Earth's mightiest heroes starts wiping Loki's back gently. Loki orchestrates a series of satisfied sighs and moans. "You are much gentler than Victor." It is half a lie. Victor is gentler than this when required, but more often than not it is not gentleness Loki wants from his hands. 

"You shouldn't be here with him."

Twisting around in the water, Loki faces the enthralled hero. "Would you take me away with you?"

"Uh..." Clearly he thinks of heroism and perhaps his Pepper Potts. The gossip magazines say the two are in a rough patch, but Loki knows the gossip magazines say whatever they please. Victor does not allow such publications in Latveria. "I... I could..."

Loki slides a hand up one strong arm and the other hand along the man's thigh. "Victor wants me to be his Queen. Would you be as generous?"

"Babe, I could give you whatever you want," Stark says confidently. "And in a far cooller place than this backwater country."

"Oh, how wonderful," Loki gushes. In the corner of the room Stark's metal helmet calls to him, teammates seeking him for some task or rescue. Loki kisses the man to distract him. Tony's hand slides down into the water to caress down Loki's side. He moves with the ease of one who is used to rapidly escalating sexual encounters. When they break the kiss, Loki gasps, "Get into the bath with me."

"I shouldn't," Tony groans. "The aim is to get you out of the bath."

"So come and wash me," Loki teases. "Then we can go."

"We should go now."

"Come and wash me," Loki implores. "Then we can fuck."

Stark's eyebrows jump up. "I..." He looks over at his metal suit. "I really should go. My friends..."

"We'll be quick," Loki promises in a whisper. "Trust me." He reaches up and rolls down the waistband of Stark's sweatpants, underwear too. The man does not stop him. Once the fabric is bunched around his bent knees, Loki leans over and laps at the hard member jutting out at him. 

"Oh fuck. You're one hell of a goddess. Okay. Okay." Stark pulls back and kicks off his sweatpants before climbing down into the shallow pool. His immediate attention is slathered over Loki's breasts, which he admits were designed to be distractingly large, so as to amuse himself when weak-willed men stare with dropped jaws. Victor likes them and apparently, so does Stark. Midgardians, honestly.

The Iron Man helmet makes some sort of alarm. A man's voice emits from it shortly thereafter. "Sir, I am detecting neurological fluctuations atypical of a battle scenario. I recommend immediate extraction from the situation."

Stark glances away from him for a moment and frowns. "Neurological..."

Loki rolls his hips and slides down onto him, taking him deep. Stark groans loudly. He belongs to Loki again, lips on neck, hand squeezing breasts, cock rutting up into tight heat. "Mmm, good," Loki purrs. "Just like that." Stark is not as thorough with him as Victor would be, but this is not about that or anything like it. This is about control and trickery and making a hero neglect his friends for a taste of Loki's body.

Despite Loki's whispered promise they are not quick at all. When Stark spends himself Loki uses a little surge of magic to harden him again. He does the same thing for Victor often. Even the most impressive Midgardians struggle to match Gods for stamina.

The castle shakes violently. Thor and the green monster have clearly finished their fight outside and have come to rescue their friends. Loki twists around so that Stark is against the edge of the bath and rides him hard until finally a climax crashes through him. His cunt tightens with it and wrings another climax from Stark, who drops his head back against the bath side with a thump. "Oh fuck."

"Indeed."

Loki climbs off of him and out of the bath, feeling reinvigorated. Stark sighs. "Gimme a sec. I'll get you out of here."

But Loki grabs a dark green robe and laughs as he wraps it around his damp body. "I have no intention of going anywhere with you." He darts out of the bathroom, ignoring Stark's shout.

He teleports to the room where his lover is being beaten by the Avengers and throws up a shield around him. "Are we done here?" He asks Victor, who nods wearily. The man crouches as though poised to strike, but Loki knows it is a front to hide a wound. Romanoff or Barton, no doubt. The others bludgeon. 

"Hiding behind your false goddess?" Captain America calls boldly. Loki throws a hand out and sends him flying backwards. Stark careens into the room and catches him, Iron Man suit hastily thrown back on after that tryst.

"That is no goddess," Thor booms. "I would recognise my brother in any of his forms. Loki, stop this!"

"Loki?" Stark's voice sounds weak even through the speakers of his helmet.

"But of course," Loki grins. He winks at the man then teleports himself and Victor to their holiday home. 

As Victor recovers, Loki shows him footage from the bathroom escapade. There are cameras in every room of Castle Doom, though their purpose is supposedly security. As expected, Victor glories in the trick played on Stark, though he is somewhat possessive in his holding of Loki as they watch. 

It is only a couple of weeks later when Loki finds himself throwing up unexpectedly that he realises the consequences of his actions.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis the season to sneak onto mother's computer to write porn while the family sleep. Tra la la la la, la la la la.

“And with the serum?” Victor spears a slice of chicken with his fork and dips it carefully into the garlic buttered vegetables. 

“Absolutely no change,” his son says as he cuts into his own dinner. 

“Hmm, surprising.”

“I know, I was anticipating it would work as a catalyst. Still, a lack of reaction does open up other avenues of research.”

Victor nods and they continue to eat in silence. He loves his son and his son loves him, but with the third point of their familial triangle absent he finds a strange awkwardness between them. Loki is a gifted conversational starter in any situation. While that skill is often used to malicious ends in certain scenarios, in Castle Doom it manifests as a tendency to always know what to say. In fact, there have been some instances of misbehaviour from Loki that Victor suspects were performed entirely to unite the Victors against him and force them to bond. It is exactly the sort of well-intentioned trickery Loki would practise against his family.

Eventually their son clears his throat and asks a question that has clearly been on his mind for a while.

“Has there been any word from Mother?”

“There has not.”

“Oh.”

“As soon as I hear anything, I will tell you.”

Their son sighs. “I know.”

Loki has been gone to Asgard for some time. It is not a normal visit. First Frigga had arrived at Castle Doom. That in itself was not noteworthy, given her tendency to dote on her grandson. But her conversation with Loki seemed to be of more serious substance than usual. It left a frown on the face of Victor’s beloved for days after. Loki continued to scry with her, waving off Victor’s worry with a vague, “some political matters”.

The next indication of trouble came some months later, when Odin Allfather arrived in Latveria specifically to speak with his son. Victor left them to it, though the curiosity was maddening for him. He wondered if Loki expected him to spy. He decided not to, regretting it afterwards when the Allfather had stormed out angrily and Loki refused to explain beyond, “He wants my help and I refused.”

Months after that Thor had come to Latveria. Hammer kept at his side, hands aloft in surrender as he approached the castle. “I need to speak with my brother. It is about peace.”

That time Victor spied. Through his cameras he heard of chaos in Asgard, of a rogue faction with access to things that meant nothing to Victor but made Loki wince. Talk of war and the danger their parents were in. Loki had maintained there was nothing he could do. Thor seemed to think otherwise. He believed that Loki had a unique perspective and skillset that would not be matched by any of the rebels. He insisted that while he could manage the defence, he needed a sharper mind for the attack. Loki declined to assist. 

“My family is here,” he said.

“And when the Axes have finished setting my head beside father and mother’s, they will come for yours,” Thor replied. “And your husband’s. And your son’s.”

Still Loki folded his arms. “I am not of Odin’s House.”

Thor had laughed and clapped his shoulder. “I hope you are more convincing when you tell them that. Fare me well, brother. We may not meet again.” He spoke no nonsense of meeting in another life as he left, knowing that he and Loki had very different destinations planned.

In the night that followed Loki twisted and turned through the night. He woke trembling and went to check on their son before returning to Victor’s embrace.

“A nightmare,” Victor had tried to reassure him.

“I fear not,” Loki had whispered. “My mind is never so weak. It fills only with the horrors that truly threaten me. I am afraid… I will need to go to Asgard.”

“Very well.”

“To war.”

And though Victor tightened his grip, he had not attempted to dissuade him. There would have been little point. “You will not take me with you,” he assumed.

“Not for a crown in every realm, my love.”

They made love and rested some before morning. Loki packed a few things into a pocket dimension and enjoyed breakfast with him before telling their son that he was going on a trip to Asgard.

Six months later and Victor has been forced to tell his boy all that he knows. The war goes poorly. Loki has been communicating with him via scrying magics, but the frequency of such calls has been decreasing. 

What Victor has not told their son is that the last time Loki called, one month ago, he had been bloody and battered and barely lucid with the sounds of battle nearby. 

A month and Victor has heard nothing. He works almost tirelessly on his realm portal, but does not know if it will be enough. If it will be fast enough. If his love is already slain.

He retires for the night but cannot sleep. He contemplates returning to the lab to continue his work, but he is tired for all that he cannot sleep.

“Victor?”

His beloved’s voice startles him and he sits upright. A scrying portal has opened at the end of the bed, less than half a metre squared with Loki sat on a bed within it. He looks unhurt and Victor breathes a sigh of relief.

“Loki.”

“I hope you have not been too worried for me. I have been wanting to speak to you for days. This is the first I could escape.” Loki lounges back on his bed, a casual unlaced green tunic falling open to reveal his pale skin as he drains the goblet in his hand and drops it to the floor with a clang. “By the Nine, I have missed you, Victor.”

“And I you. You were wounded when we last spoke.”

“Ah, I did call you? I thought that was a hallucination. I’m so sorry. That must have given you a scare. I assure you, Thor came valiantly to my rescue that day though the situation was dire indeed. Had I realised I did not imagine contacting you in that state I would have found a way to speak to you sooner. Midgardian time has been somewhat tricky to track.”

“How fares your war?”

A beautifully wicked grin. “It is won. I will return to you within mere days. We are currently… tying up loose ends. Asgardian-style.” He giggles. “Feasts and what-not. Meetings. Oaths.”

That is when Victor places the strangeness of tone. “You are drunk,” he comments with mild amusement.

“I’ll bring you a bottle of our wine,” Loki says, “then you will understand. It tastes like the finest poison.” Another giggle. “Thor hates it. I am supposed to be listening to his speech right now but…” He sighs. “I could not put off seeing you for another minute. How is our son?”

“He misses you.”

“Oh, how I miss him too,” Loki says, his voice almost a whine. He wriggles down on the blankets. “I cannot wait to be in Latveria once more. It was in my mind for the entirety of every battle but now that I am at rest the thought screams at me. I lay on this princely bed and though it be softer than any Midgardian material I would trade it for a bed of nettles should you lay in it with me.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I think I will wait for you to join me in this one.”

Loki cackles. “Not interested in attempting intimacy with nettles all around, Victor? Here I thought you a courageous man.”

“Courageous. Not foolish.”

“Hmm.” Loki is running his fingers up and down the exposed skin of his chest now. “Do me a favour, darling? A little thing for your war hero?”

“What would you like of me?”

His beloved shivers a little. “Talk to me. I want to hear how you will handle me when I return to you.”

“That rather depends on how you want to be handled, love.” They have played a similar game before, though not with true distance between them. Loki is vocal in the bedroom, but sometimes he wishes for Victor to take over erotic speech. They rarely have silent love-making. “Will you be tired when you return to me? Will you fall sleepily into my arms?”

“Perhaps,” Loki says with a slow smile, his free hand moving down to unfasten his belt. “Would you take pity on your weary soldier?”

“But of course. I would carry you to our chamber and would not dream of taking advantage of your weak state.”

“What if I wanted you to?” Loki asks, barely above a whisper. He shifts his hips to work his trousers down a little.

“You mean if I saw the depravity in your eyes?” Loki nods. “Then I would find it difficult to resist. After all, I have been without you for so long.”

“Yes,” Loki agrees. “Too long.” He caresses himself in full view of Victor, deft fingers teasing at his member, hardening it right there as Victor watches. 

He is unable to avoid the rush of arousal in his own body. A watering of his mouth at the sudden memory of sucking on it until Loki begged for reprieve. “I would part those thighs. Kiss at your beautiful legs. Suck bruises into the pale skin to remind you where your battles should be fought.”

“And if I asked you to stop?” Loki asks, now fully erect in his hand. “If I pleaded and told you I couldn’t, I was too tired?”

Victor laughs, even as his own hand slides under the blankets to touch himself. “I know you too well to believe it. But I would rub my finger against you in your most intimate of places until you confessed your desire. Show me that now.”

Loki’s green eyes glow brighter for a split-second, magic burning higher from his passion. “Yes, my King,” he whispers breathily. He parts his thighs wider and brings the fingers from his chest to his lips, sucking on them for a moment before applying them to his hole with gentle strokes that are more for Victor’s benefit than his own. 

“That is where I would taunt you with what you wanted. I could do that for hours if needed.”

“It wouldn’t take hours,” Loki promises. “Mere minutes, I think. Victor, I crave your touch so much right now that you will wonder what succubus has stolen my form. At your firm fingering I will be utterly undone, begging you to take me like a whore or rut me like an animal.” He writhes as he moans the words out and Victor tugs at himself harder. 

“Yet I will not. For you are my Queen and shall ever be treated as such. I will hush you with a kiss and then present you with this.” Victor pushes down the blankets to show his own erection, gratified by Loki’s obvious hunger when he sees it.

“Oh Victor, what I would not give to take you between my lips right now. You will find me quite greedy on my return.”

“I am used to your appetites, wanton.”

Loki pushes two fingers into himself. “Mmm, yes you are,” he purrs. “More than anyone who has ever lived. You are an expert on my body, Victor. So tell me what I would want now, now you have presented your wonderful cock to your weary Soldier-Queen?”

“Weary as you are I would sit back, as I am now,” Victor gestures to himself, lounging on the blankets, “And tell you to take what you need.”

His beloved pouts. “You would make me ride?”

“For your own good.”

Leaning forward onto his knees, Loki begins to lift his hips then sink down onto his hand. He moans aloud and Victor watches his lover’s cock as fluid seeps out of the head and dribbles down the length over the quickening hand that strokes it. This near he can tell himself that it is Loki’s body that squeezes down around him, though he knows it to be his own hand. 

“That’s good,” he murmurs, watching his God debase himself. “You are so beautiful. I cannot wait to touch you and taste you. I will spend hours worshipping you.”

“And yet,” Loki gasps. “You make me exert myself?”

“But of course. When you are at an edge, you like for me to push you over. If you come to me weary it is my duty to fully exhaust you, to take that divine body to the very brink of endurance.”

Loki moans and shivers. He is tense now, working his fingers into his body with frantic little nudges. “Yes, yes. I cannot wait for you Victor, I cannot wait to have you inside me again. Keep talking, please keep talking.”

“My beautiful Queen,” Victor says, his voice almost a groan from the pleasure of his own hand while he watches. “It will not be my voice you beg for when I am inside you, when I hold your wrists firm to my chest and demand you writhe on my cock for our mutual pleasure. After that I will put you on your back and chain your hands to the bed while I tease you with my tongue.” He licks his lips at the thought of it.

“Oh, Victor, Victor… I cannot—“ Loki cries out and his cock spurts over the bed. He rubs a few more times, greedy to release every last drop, before letting go and withdrawing his fingers from himself. Then he sprawls back on the blankets, debauched and lovely. He licks his lips and runs his fingers over his chest. “Pretend I’m there, Victor. Pretend I am lounging beneath you right now. Waiting for your seed against my skin.”

Victor grunts and the thought takes him to orgasm, imagining spilling on his beloved’s chest and face. He watches Loki’s satisfied smile as Victor’s hips jerk on the bed between them.

For a few minutes they relax, simply gazing into one another’s eyes.

Eventually Loki stretches and sighs. “I love you so much, Victor.”

“And I you.”

“A few days. I promise.”

Then the window into the other world is gone and Victor is alone in the bed with cooling semen on his legs. He cleans up then finds sleep much quicker than before.

In the morning he tells his son that he has heard news from his Mother.

“Good, good,” the boy responds. “That’s very good. I’m going to be in the lab this morning if that’s okay.” He stands from the table.

“Do you not wish for any further details?” Victor asks, confused. His son has been desperate for information and now he does not even enquire when his Mother will return?

“Um, no. I heard quite enough, thank you Father. These draughty old castles, they echo, you know?”

Then he awkwardly sidles out of the room.


	24. Chapter 24

The Jubilee is wonderful. Loki takes a deep breath and fills her lungs with Latverian air as she and Victor sit in the open-top car. They move at a snail’s pace, nodding and waving to the cheering population as they pass slowly. The streets are filled with their supporters, Latverians of all age and station waving banners and whistling and applauding. They come from many different countries these days as well, this generation far more diverse than before. Latverian immigration laws have always been rather permissive. Only the country’s reputation had prevented a massive influx of people. Over the years that has all changed.

Their son, ever the dashing Prince, rides the motorcycle ahead of their car with a guard riding one either side. Vic has grown into his role well and it warms Loki to see how well their boy is adored. She thinks of her other children scorned and exiled by Asgard and squeezes Victor’s hand. Finally she has found a King who knows what worthy truly looks like.

“I feel as though I owe no small part of this to you,” Victor murmurs into her ear. The mask is cold against Loki’s skin, but her shiver at the sensation is not due to unpleasantness.

“How funny, I was just thinking something similar,” Loki purrs. She turns her head and kisses him sweetly.

The cheering of the masses increases to a deafening roar. After the kiss she cuddles into his embrace. Let the people see their King coddle a Goddess. Loki has a very different sort of pride to Victor. She is not ashamed to show how his strength soothes her. She has long maintained that such shows are good for his rule and reputation.

“My kingdom finally matches the ideal I held in my mind. As near a utopia as any kingdom of man can be. Attracting the greatest minds and talents of the world. Impenetrable to attack and independent of the resources held by other countries. No leverage can be won over us. It is the land I used to tell myself that I possessed. Before you.”

“Now you have this kingdom and whichever one we shall fight for next,” Loki says, smiling. “You know my Father is contemplating a sort of…retirement?”

“Your brother shall stand to inherit.”

“My brother is conflicted on the matter. As are my parents, interestingly.”

“That _is_ interesting. How have they come to this doubt in their heir?”

“There have been no major situations causing a change of heart. The reconsiderations have been more… subtle.”

Her relationship with her family has changed slowly. So much was said and done. Blood has been shed. Even after Vic was born and her parents endeavoured to treat this one differently, things have not been straightforward. They have all made further mistakes. Loki has fallen into screaming rows with her father on numerous occasions. But as the years went by, it happened less and less. Thor, on the other hand, seems to have fallen into a sort of cyclical maturity. He dwells on Midgard and softens himself for a time, but when serious battle breaks out he returns to the foolhardy warrior archetype that suits him so well. In the civil war of Asgard he was borderline berserk. In the years since then he has worsened and improved with the change of the seasons. Loki puts much of it down to the transience of mortals, who seem to be his stabilising agent.

In Loki’s last visit home her father spoke to her at great length about governance in Latveria. He asked many questions about their small council, about civil matters and their management of the economy. It had struck her as harmless curiosity, an attempt of her Father to make light conversation. Until her mother entered and asked what they were discussing at which point her father answered, “I am just making enquiries after Loki’s kingdom. It occurs to me how similar it is in some ways to the structure of Asgard.”

And Loki’s mother had smiled and nodded, saying, “Indeed. I’ve often thought it good that one of our children is practising rule.”

Odin stopped saying at some point that Loki might one day be of use to Thor. He now says she may be of use to Asgard. It is not difficult to see what that means. Loki knows her parents could never disinherit or speak ill of Thor and his ability to rule, but she is reaching the conclusion that they would not look unfavourably on her usurpation either.

“Your efforts in the civil war were of great value to them. They have been kinder to you ever since. Though now that I think on it, that was some time ago.”

Her husband falls into thought and is quiet for a while until they slow even more, at which point he asks, “What is our son doing with that old woman?”

Loki looks over to where Vic has pulled up his bike to stop by the crowd at the edge of the street. He greets a lovely woman of greying hair and kisses her hand charmingly. It takes a moment for Loki to recognise the eyes.

“Ah, his old friend Vanessa. You remember her, don’t you darling?” Loki waves and when the woman sees, she nods deferentially.

Victor is quiet for a moment as the car passes her. “She went to school with our son when he was very young.”

“That’s right.”

“She has not aged well.”

“On the contrary, I think she has aged very well for a mortal. Better than poor Valeria Richards, did you see her interview at the convention the other day? That made my heart ache a little, I must be honest.”

For a while her husband remains silent as the crowd cheers around them. 

“This jubilee…”

“Yes?”

“Remind me which year we are celebrating?” He sounds unusually uncertain and for the first time, Loki feels a pang of guilt.

“Your fiftieth year as monarch, darling.”

“That is a long rule.”

“A long, successful rule.”

“And yet, with all the trials and tribulations that it has involved, I do not possess a single grey hair.”

“Fancy that. You should consider it. It can be distinguished on some men.”

“It is a suspiciously long rule.”

“I suppose.”

His metal gauntlet squeezes her hand very tightly. Not in reassurance. She has long weaved little spells to prevent this conversation and that may be just as frustrating to her husband as anything else she has worked upon him. “I do not think I have aged a day since you moved into my castle.”

“No, I do not think you have. Well done.”

“Loki.”

She smiles at him. “Tell me when you want to stop. Until then…” She squeezes his hand back, metal creaking under the godly grip of her dainty fingers.

“…’til death do us part, my love.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas.

So gather round now on this Christmas Day  
Devil Mephisto has something to say  
It’s not my custom to tell tales of love  
Or fables more suited to Him above.

My foes they are many, friends but a few  
The latter count in the former lot too  
The pair of these foe-friends dearest to me  
Are Victor von Doom and the God Loki.

A marriage most strange in ev’ry sane mind  
A bond between men both mad and unkind  
Whimsical cruelty, malevolent schemes,  
Hardly seem apt to show heartwarming themes.

But gaze with me now upon Castle Doom  
As trickster darts gaily between each room  
Tinsel and lights and a big Christmas tree  
Made by the magic of this Norse deity

Following behind with curious gaze  
Their son takes in the colourful displays  
The castle so dreary starts to shine bright  
Illuminating this cold Christmas night.

But not ev'ryone's so keen on this joy  
Victor approaches his love and their boy  
“What is all this nonsense? Have you gone mad?”  
Loki frowns, says, “What? It's not all that bad.”

Doom looks at the reindeer, the cookie plate,  
The stockings hanging above the fire grate,  
The tinsel, baubles and symbols of glee,  
All draped on the godawful Christmas tree.

“Why in the world would you put all that here?  
My castle’s aesthetic is doom and fear!”  
“Our castle darling,” Loki fast corrects,  
His tone of voice clear – obey or no sex.

But this is the last straw for dour old Doom  
Who has watched Loki annex ev'ry room  
This lab a nursery, this one a spa,  
This lab removed to make room for his car.

“Enough of this rubbish,” he snaps, in rage  
He grabs the nativity from its stage  
Drops it in the fire, gives Loki a nod,  
“This festivity does not suit a God.”

“Our son made that Victor!” Loki cries out  
“How could you do that, you cruel, brutish lout?!”  
But Doom does not cower for gods or men  
He folds his arms, says, “I'd do it again.”

“You can't do it again if we don't stay.  
Why would we remain when you act this way?”  
Doom scoffs, amused, “And where else would have you?”  
“I’ll find somewhere, Victor. I always do.

You can keep your grim castle and sad staff.  
Our son needs one Christmas where he can laugh.  
If you can’t permit my small Christmas cheer,  
Me and our son are getting out of here.”

Victor laughs again, a move most unwise  
“This is least believable of your lies.  
Christmas will pass just like any dull day  
Now I demand you magic this away.”

“You do it,” Loki replies with a smile.  
“I shan't be here to do it for a while.”  
A flicker of magic, a glow of green,  
Then Loki and their son cannot be seen.

“Such dramatics,” Victor says with a sneer.  
“I give it three hours then they'll be back here.”  
But midnight finds Victor sleeping alone.  
The subsequent day Loki's still not home.

“What do I care if he doesn't come back?  
So many projects to get back on track.”  
Excited anew with prospect of work,  
Victor stays in his labs, the selfish jerk.

Reed Richards calls at an ungodly hour  
“You know Loki's staying in Stark Tower?  
Valeria's worried – did you two fight?  
You know it's coming up to Christmas, right?”

“You meddling fool! Leave Doom's life alone!  
Doom manages well enough on Doom's own!”  
“I know we're not friends, Valeria said--”  
“Doom does not care Reed, put that child to bed!”

“Your marriage is weird,” Reed just continues,  
“But its ending wouldn't be welcome news.  
I dread to think of the damage you'd cause  
If Loki said he wanted a divorce.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” Victor exclaims.  
“Doom does not have time for these foolish games!”  
He hangs up the phone, gets back to his spell -  
Communicating with demons in Hell.

His mind loses focus, gives me an in  
To turn his spell into a diff'rent thing  
My inspiration's from a mortal tale  
To warn Victor now before he can fail.

His thoughts shape the spell to what he holds dear  
Loki God of Mischief no longer here  
When Doom goes to bed, lonely and gloomy  
The shadows take form, that of Young Loki.

The child's not real, he is only a spell  
But he knows his part and will play it well  
With youthful fervour he makes such a noise  
That Doom wakes with none of his usual poise.

“Who dares to disturb Doom at this late hour?”  
Doom looks across his room with a glower  
When he sees the face of the noisy guest  
He narrows his eyes - “This must be some jest.”

“No jest or deceit, I'm Ghost of Times Gone  
Giving you thoughts you can meditate on.”  
The boy glows unworldly, eyes a bright green  
“I'm Loki but younger and not so mean.”

“Begone trickster child, or shade that you are  
Loki's schemes can be more subtle by far  
Doom will not repent the things Doom has said  
Now leave this castle, leave Doom to Doom's bed.”

“Loki did not call my image to you  
I'm here because I've a duty to do  
You don't understand what happened tonight  
You need to if you're to make things alright.”

“Doom already knows all that you could tell  
Doom's mind will not change because of some spell.”  
But young Loki sighs and gestures his hand  
And teleports them to a diff'rent land.

“You recognise Asgard, I'm assuming?  
It's long before Ragnarok was looming.”  
The child ghost leads Victor down grand old halls  
Not pausing to let him look at murals.

“It's not Earth Christmas, though gifts are given.  
Me and my brother Thor are just children.  
I knew even then something was not right  
I guess for a child I was rather bright.”

Victor takes in the quaint family scene  
In this room Odin sits holding his Queen  
There are lights like fireflies that hover round  
While Thor and Loki sit down on the ground.

The hammer is Thor's but only a toy  
Loki gets a book much to his young joy  
“It's idyllic, no? Thor always laments  
Occasions that pass without my presence.”

“What does this show Doom?” Victor needs to know  
“If you've nothing important to say go.”  
“This is important,” the ghost child insists  
“I'm showing you things your Loki misses.

This is my family forever lost  
I sought power and gained it at a cost  
I guess it seemed like a fair trade to me  
To give up my chance of a family.

But look at me now!” the ghost child exclaims  
“Picking out furniture and baby names!  
Content in my evil you by my side  
Acting the part of your goddess-queen-bride.

I want to have this. Is that quite so bad?  
Myself as mother, you as Victor's dad  
A celebration, regardless of cause  
A day to be glad that I became yours.”

But Victor rejects this foolish idea  
“You know that you're Doom's. Doom makes that quite clear.  
If it's gifts you want, then gifts you shall get  
To celebrate the fact that we two met.”

“That is not the point,” the child says, dismayed.  
“It's not about gifts, it's what we have made.  
Your Loki loves you and just wants to be  
Part of a warm scene with his family.”

“If it meant so much he would not have left  
His father and mother feeling bereft.”  
Doom knows as he speaks it's not so simple  
The choices they made that led to evil.

“Nothing you have shown here changes Doom's mind  
So Loki left his family behind  
He has another who love him full well  
He's no need to put us through Christmas hell.”

Around Doom Asgard starts to fade away  
No more can he see the godlings at play  
Odin Allfather disappears from view  
A few moments later his queen does too

The Ghost of Times Gone fades too with a sigh  
“I won't be the last of spirits to try.  
Ghost of Other Now will torment you soon  
In an effort to make you change your tune.”

Then Victor is back, alone on his bed  
To contemplate all that the young 'ghost' said.  
He no longer thinks that the 'ghost' was sent  
By Loki to make his husband repent

Loki would not have shown a memory  
Of happier times with his family  
No matter what Thor says those days are done  
They cause Loki pain so he has moved on.

This apparition has some other source  
A trick being played by some unknown force  
Victor arranges magic runes to halt  
Further invasion from forces occult.

At the same time he is anxious to see  
Another visit, another Loki  
Ghost of Other Now, what now could that mean?  
His answers appear in a flash of green.

This Loki is young, older than the child  
His black jeans are tight, his hair loosely-styled  
He wanders the room like he's invited  
Then turns to Victor looking delighted

“So this is a world where we are in love  
That's one AU that I never thought of.  
It's not working out from what I hear though  
Over Christmas cheer you're letting me go.”

“Who are you creature?” Doom demands to know.  
“And what lesson do you seek to bestow?  
Doom needs no teaching from spiritual guides  
The best action's always what Doom decides!”

His guest is unfazed by Victor's outburst  
Why should he worry? Doom is the one cursed  
“Ghost of Other Now is what they call me.  
In another world I'm just called Loki.

I'm trying to be a better version  
Of myself though some still call me villain  
Honestly I am the last person who  
Gives a damn whether Loki stays with you.

Villainy leads to an untimely end  
Oh don't look as though I've tried to offend  
You know it's the case, whatever I say  
Heroes always win at end of the day.”

A wave of his hands and the castle fades  
Now in Stark Tower, they're watching charades.  
The room is decked out in decorations  
As Avengers enjoy celebrations.

Carols blare from speakers to set the mood  
Hawkeye switches words for ones that are rude  
Black Widow's annoyed – they can't guess her mime  
She does it again, “for the fifteenth time!”

Bruce Banner is calm, playing chess with Vic  
The ease of the room makes Victor feel sick  
His son should not be comfortable here  
“Is this an illusion?” He asks with fear.

Alternate-Loki grins with amusement  
“My gift to you is to show the present.  
This is the current cost of your neglect  
I show it to you so you can reflect.”

Victor looks around at the festive scene  
This was not something he could have foreseen  
Thor sends a smile to the balcony door  
His gaze on something that appals Victor

Outside in the snow and the winter dark  
Loki talks with Vic's father Tony Stark  
A glass of dark red in each of their hands  
Stark nods and smiles as if he understands.

The 'ghost' Loki smiles, “You know where this leads.  
I think Stark will meet all of your queen's needs.  
He's wealthy like you with the fame to match.  
A hero as well, really a great catch.

I’d like to try him in my Universe  
Rich, smart, heroic, I could do much worse.  
And so could your Loki that much is clear  
Look how happy everyone is here.”

But Victor rejects this sensible speech  
Says “Stark has long been within Loki’s reach!  
He could have had him if he had just said  
I would not begrudge him nights in Stark’s bed.”

“But why should he have to leave Castle Doom?  
Is it so bad to decorate each room?  
He’ll clean it away with magic easy  
So why does Christmas make you feel queasy?

Think of your marriage and your little boy.  
Is that worth losing over Christmas joy?”  
But Victor Von Doom laughs and shakes his head  
“Loki will not stray too long from Doom’s bed.

What you see as signs of domestic woe,  
As signs Loki may move in with my foe  
Are no more than tricks that he plays on Stark  
It’s a game, a distraction, just a lark.

Might as well say that he’s staying with Thor.  
This visit is a joke to him, no more.  
He will be back with me on Christmas Day  
Or some time after, it’s fine either way.”

Ghost of Other Now shakes his head sadly.  
“I think Stark will prove you wrong quite gladly.  
Still I’ve done my bit as far as I care  
I’ll drop you back home and I’ll leave you there.”

Quick as a flash they are in Castle Doom  
Victor is relieved to see his bedroom  
“Is the curse done now? Will you leave me be?”  
Ghost of Other Now grins, says “No. There’s three.”

He disappears laughing and Victor swears  
Wondering how he is caught unawares.  
He checks all his doors and the warding spells  
“How are they doing this by the Nine Hells…”

“Are there nine? I thought there were more than that,”  
A voice says sudden, as if they’re mid-chat.  
Victor is startled and turns around quick  
To take in a sight that makes him feel sick.

Is this still Loki? This thing before him?  
The scars on his mouth make his visage grim  
His eyes hold nothing but malice most cruel  
His skin ghastly pale like some sort of ghoul.

His slim figure now is just flesh and bone  
He’s thinner than Victor has ever known.   
His voice is the rattle of something dead  
His dark hair hangs limp and thin on his head.

"Don't look so sullen dear husband of mine,  
I come to you from the end of the line.  
Your Loki still has a long way to go  
Before he is me and knows what I know."

"So what lesson do you have to impart?"  
Victor asks trying to harden his heart.  
This thing is just one more part of the curse  
A spectre, hallucination, no worse.

"You have seen Present and you have seen Past  
You may consider me the Christmas Last  
Where I have come from all life shall soon end  
I'm here as a favour to an old friend.

I suppose you need not travel that far  
The ramifications of your acts are  
Much sooner realised than you can believe  
Let us go to next decade's Christmas Eve."

Everything turns a dark sort of grey  
And Victor does not know what he should say  
With a glance at this new apparition  
He walks the hall to take in this vision.

It's all the same as far as he can tell.  
"Doom thinks there is something wrong with your spell."  
As soon as he speaks his castle starts to shake  
Loki smiles and says, “I made no mistake.”

His limbs show off an unexpected grace  
As he stands and says, “Let’s look round this place.”  
He laughs as he prances down the stone stairs  
“Come now let’s see how your future self errs.”

A battle is happening that is clear  
Explosions are all that Victor can hear  
Amongst all of the commotion and noise  
Victor can hear a familiar voice.

Though he suspects this is all just a trick  
He can’t stand to hear pain from his son Vic  
He runs to the room where he heard the yell  
And sees a scene taken from the worst hell.

“What you imagined?” He hears Loki ask.  
His future self stands with armour sans mask  
Blasting away with angry abandon  
At the young man he currently calls son.

Vic holds his own, athletic and dextrous,  
“I’ll kill you!” He screams, voice murderous  
“For all of your crimes, you’re going to pay!  
You can’t kill my father and get away!”

A moment’s confusion, then Loki points  
In the corner lay broken metal joints  
A suit gleaming red, Iron Man’s body  
Doom looks over to the grinning Loki.

“You never forgave how he took me in,”  
Loki said still with that damnable grin.  
“Your failure to manage a compromise  
Made you ill-fitting for us in my eyes.

So I raised my son with help from Tony  
Left you in this castle being lonely  
I thought of you less as the years went by  
Watch closely this is the part where you die.”

Vic fires out some sort of destruction ray  
Doom is still spry and he gets out the way  
Shoots back at Vic with marksman’s precision  
Hits where a laser made an incision.

His son falls back dead onto Tony’s suit  
“You fool!” Victor screams, “How - _how_ could you shoot?!”  
His future self can’t hear of his outrage  
He breathes hard and stares at the tragic stage.

Suddenly a scream shakes the castle walls  
Real Loki arrives, sees his son and falls  
Down onto his knees at young Victor’s side  
And wails as though all that he loved has died.

“How could you?!” He screams at older Victor  
“We left due to you, you vicious monster!  
Tony indulged us at every turn  
You refused to change, you were too stubborn!

You couldn’t accommodate something small,  
How could it be that you loved us at all?  
Mortals can adapt, that much I have learned  
If you’d shown signs of that, we’d have returned!

That was long ago, that option has passed.  
For killing my boy you have breathed your last.”  
Victor’s past self says, “But Loki, love, please…”  
Loki’s magic soon brings him to his knees.

Tears fill those beautiful eyes of deep green  
As tragedy overwhelms his once-Queen  
Loki does not prolong Victor’s murder  
His final blast explodes Victor’s armour.

Doom watches his body fall to the ground  
Loki turns away with barely a sound  
Kneels by his son Vic and closes his eyes  
Rests a hand on Tony’s chestplate and cries.

“Amazing the whims of capricious gods,”  
Old Loki says as he ignores the sobs  
Of his younger self curled over his kin  
He’s far removed from the grief of his twin.

“With everything gone, including my son,  
My scheme for Ragnarok has now begun  
All because one day, many years ago  
I wanted a Christmas and you said no.”

“This is ridiculous!” Victor cries out.  
“That cannot be what all this is about!  
Loki has suffered many greater slights  
But returned to me after fewer nights.”

“Tony’s home offered more indulgences  
Easy to overstate your offences  
I pondered how rigid you were to me  
While Stark gave up all that he had easy.”

Old Loki shrugs and the tragic scene fades  
The corpses before them become just shades.  
“Perhaps I chose too rash and too quickly  
But you never so much as said sorry.

You see now the point of this Christmas trip?  
So much will be lost by your little slip.  
The tantrum that costs you your Queen and son  
Will lead me to start the Armageddon.

Goodbye Latveria, goodbye Midgard.  
Is celebrating for one day so hard?  
It shows that you are willing to relax  
To be the Father Vic otherwise lacks.”

“Will that be enough?” Doom asks with dismay.  
“To show I can celebrate Christmas Day?  
That may avert one time catastrophe  
But how can I be sure he stays with me?”

Old Loki shrugs and he begins to glow.  
“I’m only the worst case scenario.  
You forgot to try, that’s all you did wrong.  
Go be the man that I loved all along.”

As that Loki departs Victor hears screams  
Tearing the future apart at the seams  
Then he is alone, his future unclear  
He longs for the return of his most dear.

It’s morning he sees outside the window  
He wakes all the staff and tells them all so  
Demands that they decorate Castle Doom  
A wreath on the door, tinsel in each room.

They look at their King as though he is mad  
But know to obey or things will go bad.  
“The castle must be in top condition  
When I return back home from my mission.”

An army of Doombots sweep out the door  
With orders to go into ev’ry store  
And gather age-appropriate presents  
And wrap them finely for the young God-Prince.

He tries not to think on what he has seen  
Just because he saw Vic die doesn’t mean  
That time can’t be changed – he’s done it before  
For his family he’ll do it once more.

He’ll handle presents and put up a tree  
He’ll display the requested Christmas glee.   
He’ll show Loki he can have Christmas fun  
That he’s a fit father for Loki’s son.

Once the castle is dressed as festive hell  
Victor attempts a strong summoning spell  
He calls home his Queen as well as their son  
Hoping the spell works for two not just one.

“Victor how dare you use magic on me?”  
Shouts his lover who has arrived angry.  
“Do you not think we have argued enough?  
There are reasons I stormed out in a huff.”

“Because I was snappish, cold and quite cruel  
Loki I know I have been quite a fool.  
I hope you’ll let me try to make amends.  
You and our son are lit’rally godsends.”

Behind Loki Vic stands awkward and shy  
While Loki casts round a distrustful eye  
Then he shouts “Mother, look at the big tree!”  
And runs out the room into the study.

Loki follows though casts Victor a glare  
He stops in his tracks when he sees what’s there  
A tall tree covered in fine ornaments  
Surrounded by Vic’s expensive presents.

“Mother these presents all say they’re for me!”  
Victor approaches his Goddess Loki  
“Perhaps you should open them,” Loki says,  
Then settles down on the couch while Vic plays.

Each time new wrapping paper tears away  
Loki acts impressed and smiles Victor’s way.  
When it is time for the carols to start –   
“I’m curious what caused this change of heart.”

Victor sits down besides his dear Goddess  
As the staff start to sing Merry Christmas.  
“I thought you might never come back to me  
If I didn’t attempt festivity.”

“I’m sure I would have eventually,  
When we got bored of hanging round Tony.  
I’m stunned that you went to all this effort  
Just because you feared our feelings were hurt.”

Victor says “I know it’s not quite our style.  
But I have loved you now for quite a while.   
There is no shame in admitting defeat  
To the ones who make my life feel complete.”

Loki laughs, “This is quite a change of tune,  
I had not thought to hear from you so soon.   
And from Grinch to Santa with such great speed…”  
Victor shrugs, “I just realised what I need.

I don’t care for Christmas, gifts or the tree  
The main thing is having you here with me  
If you want to celebrate I will too  
This castle is cold to me without you.”

Loki is amused but secretly moved  
Victor’s worth as a kind Father is proved.  
King and Queen Doom cuddle up with their son.  
A Merry Christmas to everyone.


End file.
